


Awakening: The Warrior Queen

by Nardhwen



Category: Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: F/M, Family, Fantasy, Fluff, Friendship, Politics, Romance, Royalty, Smut, Strong Female Characters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-07
Updated: 2020-08-09
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:28:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 17
Words: 70,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24584584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nardhwen/pseuds/Nardhwen
Summary: Even after the end of the Fifth Blight, the darkspawn's relentless assault on Ferelden continues. Though this time they are at war with each other, while innocents are caught in the middle. Everil Theirin, the new queen of Ferelden, now must wield her sword again to save her people and bring peace back to her country's northern lands. Meanwhile, Alistair too has his own battles to fight as the beginnings of a revolt in the Bannorn threatens his rule. AlistairxF!Cousland
Relationships: Alistair/Female Cousland (Dragon Age), Alistair/Female Warden (Dragon Age)
Comments: 36
Kudos: 16





	1. A New Threat

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys! So I'm starting the sequel to my Fifth Blight series (if you haven't read them, please go to my profile and look for them there). The first chapters WILL lead to the events in Awakening, so bear with me as things build up to it. I will be adjusting a lot of things in the story, so it is not going to be a word for word retelling of the DLC. To those who read my previous books, you may need to be a bit patient here, as I'm not re-editing and rewriting an existing story. This one I'm doing brand new, so it will take me time to post new chapters. Thank you and I hope you enjoy this one. Cheers!  
> Disclaimer: I do not own Dragon Age. This story is not meant for monetary gain, just for fun.

⚜

  
  
  
  


_ A  _ _ churning storm covered the night _ sky in a blanket of darkness, while lightning split the clouds, thunder roaring as menacingly as a waking beast. The wind moaned and howled, stirring the waters of Ferelden’s Cannock's Coast as the waves crashed against the rocky shores. Rain fell, its icy grip clutching everything it touched.

Lightning flashed, reflecting off of the jagged edge of a blade. Low growling accompanied the crunching of footsteps over gravel when shadowy figures emerged from the woodline. Another strike of lightning lit up grotesque faces covered in black skin and with soulless eyes, their terrifying, sharp teeth dripping drool in anticipation for their next kill. They cackled and laughed hoarsely, gathering in numbers as the silhouette of a small fishing village came into their sights. 

In moments, screams filled the night as the darkspawn terrorized the town. They burst through doors and dragged the residents from their homes. Mercilessly, they yanked women by their hair and slaughtered their frightened children. The men picked up weapons and tried to fight back, their blades clashing with that of their attackers before, one by one, the monsters overpowered them. Blood soaked the ground as they indiscriminately disemboweled, maimed, or slit the throats of their victims without remorse.

A girl tried to flee from death, scrambling for the gates when an arrow struck her back and sent her to the ground. Whimpering in pain, she spun onto her rear and backed away as a hurlock's sword reflected over her wide, green eyes. 

As her scream was abruptly cut short another came from miles away, resonating through a castle’s torch-lit hallways and from within a great chamber. A clap of thunder came, flashing over the lavish room as the birthing woman on the four-poster bed cried out once more. The Chantry's Revered Mother and two sisters chanted a prayer for her and the babe at one side, while an elven maid sat at the other, holding her hand and whispering encouraging words. “You can do it, my lady. Just a while longer.”

Huffing for air, Everil Theirin shut her blue eyes tight, pale features illuminated by the fireplace as her chocolate locks and white nightgown clung to her sweating skin. Her pulse raced in her ears as evil voices chanted in her mind. Voices she'd thought gone, yet had surged forth that night as the taint yanked on her being and that of her unborn child. 

She gritted her teeth as her chest heaved, then threw her head back, screaming in anguish as visions of blood and suffering claimed her thoughts. Nightmarish blades sunk into the bodies of innocents just as she felt herself being torn apart from within, searing pain cutting her just as deep. 

“Push!” she heard her old midwife command.

And Everil did, clenching her jaw again before another wail escaped her. More visions of dying men, women, and children rushed in as the darkspawn mutilated their bodies. And she felt their pleasure. Felt their satisfaction as they butchered them. She threw her head back again and gripped the sheets, her nails digging into her palms as another agonizing cry escaped her, their rapture intertwining with her suffering as she felt herself tear further.

Another clap of thunder joined her scream just as a group of horses galloped through the rain and into the palace courtyard, most riders clad in steel plate armor, while the one heading the group wore gold and a rich, purple cloak. The golden knight dismounted from his white horse at the gates, ignoring the bowing guards as he burst into the castle's majestic hall, one of his men trailing after him. Walking with purposeful strides, he took off his golden helmet, revealing fair features. Tousled dirty blonde hair dripped water over an ivory face, while focused, amber eyes were set on the stairs ahead.

The man behind him also removed his helmet, his white locks and beard also wet from the rain. “Alistair, calm yourself! You mustn't rush into the birthing chamber!”

“Something's wrong, Eamon!” he shouted over his shoulder, his tone bordering on panic. “Something's wrong and I’m not with her!”

Damn it all. Of all the times for him to have been playing politics with squabbling nobles outside the city. He’d heard the dark voices in his head and felt the tug in his blood the moment the messenger told him she’d gone into labor. And while he’d experienced it before when darkspawn were near, this one had called to him from afar. Stronger and more frightening. 

They were Grey Wardens, cursed by the taint that poisons their blood. It meant conception was supposed to be impossible for them. Yet, so joyful were they when they found out about the babe, that they didn’t stop to think about what could happen. They didn’t question if her body could sustain life for the full term or what effects the taint would have on the child. And that he didn’t know what this feeling meant made it all the more terrifying.

A screaming Everil kept her head back and eyes shut as she pushed one more time, seeing the dead stares of her people looking back at her. Their remains lay over the dirt as their murderers admired their work, their blood soaking the soil along with the rain.  _ Why…?  _ she thought miserably, teeth gritted so tight her jaw hurt.  _ Why are they —  _

The whispering in her head grew tenfold as the image of another monster came forth, one that held features almost human. A golden mask covered its eyes, attached to an elongated head that looked to be more of a crest. Its ashen lips moved in a chant but she couldn't hear the words. And it outstretched one long arm, its claws gracing her very soul. 

The pain rushed in full force as she pushed one last time, screaming and arching her back as the baby was finally born and all the visions faded into nothingness. Her heavy breathing and quiet whines were all they could hear, for the child’s birth cry never came. Everil gulped, struggling to stay conscious as she tried to listen for it. To hear its call, and instead, hearing nothing. 

_ “Sire, you can’t—!” _

The doors to the chamber flew open despite a servant’s protests in the hall. And their king took a single step into the room, freezing on the spot at the deafening silence that greeted him.

The midwife ignored his presence, focusing only on the tiny, motionless body covered in blood she held with wrinkled hands. She raised it carefully from between the mother’s legs as one of the two maids nearby immediately helped wrap it in a warm, white blanket. 

“Your Majesty,” uttered the elven girl by Everil’s side as she rose, bowing to him from where she stood.

He didn’t answer, tentative steps taking him to his wife as he ignored the water his cloak trickled inside. Even from afar, Everil looked pale as paper and utterly exhausted, her lips parted as she panted. Whatever he’d sensed before was over, but that didn’t make him feel any better. Something else was happening, and this time to their child.

She turned tearful blues to him, her voice hoarse as she weakly reached for him. “A… Alistair…”

Alistair walked closer, the maid next to her moving aside to let him pass. “My love…” he breathed as he took her hand in his.

“I don’t hear our babe’s cry…” she whimpered, eyebrows knitted as she turned her head to see the midwife place the bundle onto a table.

A knot formed in his throat at those words as he too gazed at the old woman. 

The quiet lingered over them, heavy and almost suffocating. The only sound being the midwife’s quiet whispers. “Come on little one…” she said, gently pressing on the child’s chest with a moist towel. “Breathe now…”

Everil’s grip on his fingers tightened as she stared expectantly. Was it stillborn? Had her cursed body killed it before it was even born?  _ No, please…  _ Tears welled up in her eyes.  _ Please, Maker... _

The elves and chantry sisters clutched their chests and their rosaries, saddened expressions on their faces. While Eamon and the other servant looked on from the doorway, also riddled with concern as they waited for what seemed like forever.

A few more seconds ticked by and then came a tiny cough.

“There you are…” The old woman smiled. “There you are, little one…”

Then the high-pitched wail of a baby filled the room and everyone released the breaths they’d been holding. The midwife picked up the child once more. “She lives, my lord and lady,” she said, turning to face them as the baby continued to cry in her arms. “And yes, it is a girl.” She went to them, offering the bundle to Everil, who shakily received it, a sob escaping her as she gazed over it.

A tear rolled down her cheek as she searched her round face, looking for any signs of the darkspawn’s taint that had tortured them so and possibly almost tore her away from them. But all she could see instead of the soulless grays were bright blue eyes. Instead of ashen skin, there were rosy cheeks, and atop of her creamy brow, a crown of blond locks. “Thank the Maker…” she choked up, pure relief washing over her as she brought the child to her breast. “Oh, thank you…!”

Alistair inwardly repeated her same words as he gazed at them. They’d almost lost her. Maker, they’d almost lost her. He hesitantly sat next to her as he admired the wailing baby’s features, then his armored hand shakily stroked her head as if she were made of glass. He released a single, quivering chuckle, overwhelmed by emotion. “She’s… she's beautiful…”

Everil licked her chapped lips and feebly nodded. “She is…”

He tenderly kissed his wife’s temple. “What should we name her…?”

“Eleanor…” she whispered, her voice breaking. “Our little Eleanor… after my mother...”

A sudden clap of thunder drew their stares to the window and to the pouring rain. And although Everil felt joy in her heart, the visions from before plagued her thoughts. If what she’d seen truly happened, then that meant the darkspawn were returning despite the archdemon’s defeat not a year ago.  _ Or they never left…  _ She pressed her lips into a line, returning her eyes to her newborn. She held her a little tighter, dread overtaking her. 

⚜⚜⚜⚜

The afternoon sun bathed the city of Denerim, making Ferelden’s usually frigid weather almost bearable. Battle scars from the battle against the Fifth Blight lingered in areas still under reconstruction, but the residents lived on, enjoying their newfound peace as they worked to build their lives anew. Most gathered in the market, seeking to purchase goods from the local merchants or out for a stroll. Children laughed as they played, chasing after each other as their mothers chatted the day away. 

The chiming of armor accompanied footsteps as a party of three walked the streets, the sun’s light reflecting off of their shimmering armor. They wore blue gambesons under steel plate and scale armor, a griffon etched over their breastplates. Perfect strangers passing them by sent them bright smiles, some even dipping their heads to them or uttering gratitudes. Because they were Grey Wardens. The same order that saved them from the archdemon and its thrall not one year ago.

“ _ Niquer _ … Why is it so cold? And it smells of wet dogs…” a petite elven girl mumbled in a thick, Orlesian accent, blond hair tied into a bun while wisps of her bangs framed an angular face. She was a rogue, sporting a longbow on her back and a set of daggers at her hips. 

“That is the third time you've said that since we got here, Brielle. We will live here from now on. Better get used to it.” The brawny, dark male walking beside her gazed at her with annoyed, brown eyes. He had a great sword strapped to his back, mostly hidden by his black cloak. His raven hair was slicked back, while a thick beard framed his stout jaw.

Brielle curled her pointed nose, narrowing her green orbs. “Why must you keep reminding me, Julius? You depress me so...”

“If you wished to remain in Orlais,  _ chérie…  _ then you should have said so.”

“And go against Warden-Commander Angelo’s directive? I choose life.” She sighed, clasping her hands behind her head before gazing at the back of the Warden leading the trio. “So Elias? What are we doing in Denerim? I thought we were to go to a fortress to the north.”

“We must meet with Ferelden’s monarchs first,” he answered, glancing over his shoulder at his companions. His long, brown locks were tied into a ponytail, while a well-trimmed beard and mustache adorned his battle-worn face. He wore a blade at his hip and a shield at his back while his mannerisms were as stiff as those of a nobleman. He was older than them, pushing to late thirties.

“Oooh…” She smirked excitedly. “Are the new monarchs not the same Wardens who defeated the last archdemon? I wonder… How did they even survive the sacrifice part? And they rule this country now? Is that not against our rule of neutrality? Quite scandalous if you ask me...”

Elias glanced at her again, arching an elegant brow. “They stopped a Blight and gave us the opportunity to rebuild in Ferelden. I will not question them.” 

“Fair.” Brielle gazed up at the palace in the distance, admiring its shining spires. “I suppose it will be interesting to meet our new Warden-Commander… Do you think she will be as scary as Angelo?”

Julius chuckled. “She killed an archdemon and was too stubborn to die with it. I would say that makes her scarier.”

She shuddered again, this time for a different reason. “Right…”

After a few miles more of walking, they reached the palace gates, where guards greeted them. One of them escorted the trio in, leading them to a waiting room just outside the throne room. The scent of dust and old wood invaded their senses as they waited for the king to call for them. Brielle looked up at the rafters, blinking upon seeing pigeons nesting over them. While Julius and Elias patiently leaned against the wall.

Moments passed, then another guard came into the room, motioning for them to follow. “Come, please. The king is ready to see you.”

“About time…” Brialla grumbled, earning an elbow to her arm. “Hey!”

“Shut up…” Julius hissed as the three of them trailed the man towards the towering double doors at the end of the chamber. 

The soldier opened them, leading them into an impressive hall that stretched out before them. In the distance, they could see a golden throne, the light filtering from the windows above it making it glisten as if it were a piece of heaven itself. The king sat on it, clad in a brown, fur-lined gambeson. While a woman with long brown locks stood at his right side, a lilac dress flowing down to the floor, and her delicate hand resting on his shoulder. 

The Wardens went to them, Elias once again leading the way as they trekked through a long row of soldiers along the hall. 

“Welcome to Ferelden, Grey Wardens,” Alistair greeted them with a kind smile as he gazed upon them from above. “I hope the trip wasn’t too arduous.”

Elias bowed to him, then the other two behind him did the same. “Nothing we could not handle, your Majesty. We thank you for welcoming us.”

“Of course. We honor your order here, as you no doubt saw on your way to the palace.” His smile broadened. “So! I know your name is Elias from the missives we received… Who are the Wardens behind you?”

Before he could answer, the elf pipped in, raising her hand. “I’m Brielle! Uh, sire.”

Julius sighed, shaking his head. 

“She’s… a rogue from Val Henar,” Elias said with a breath of his own. “The other is Julius. Used to be a soldier from Jader.”

Alistair dipped his head. “It’s good to meet you both... And where do you hail from Elias?”

“Born in Val Foret, but I mostly served as a chevalier in Val Royeaux, sire.” 

The king raised his eyebrows and blinked. “A chevalier… impressive. What made you leave that life and join the Grey Wardens, if I may ask?”

“I did not agree with some of the politics towards the common folk, your Majesty,” he answered stiffly. “And darkspawn needed killing.”

Alistair let out a chuckle. “Heh… I see. I can respect a man who lives by his own principles. And the ‘darkspawn killing’ part was a nice touch.”

Elias dipped his head. “Thank you.”

“At any rate, to the matter at hand... The Blight may be over, but we still need your ranks to protect my people from the darkspawn. Especially now that my queen and I are the only Grey Wardens left in these lands…” He gave them a lopsided grin, casually leaning back in his throne. “Not exactly ideal when you have a country to run, as you can imagine.”

“Certainly.”

“Which is why you were sent here. I'm sure your former Warden-Commander already told you where your new base of operations will be located.”

“He did, sire.” Elias folded his arms. “The fortress in Amaranthine, north from here.”

“That's right. The fortress and those lands now belong to the Wardens. A seneschal has already been appointed to you, to help administer the coin and assist with the governing of your property. His name is Varel, and he's already waiting for your arrival. That means you are free to begin recruiting and rebuilding your numbers starting today.” Alistair raised his index finger. “However, before you do… there is one condition I'd like for you to remember.” 

The Warden’s brows knitted at this. “Yes, sire?”

“Be careful using your conscription rights with Ferelden's nobility…” He had to pause to keep himself from sighing. “They are already on edge with the recovery efforts still underway. And I  _ really _ don’t want to have to get involved if they throw a fit over conscription.”

“I understand, your Majesty.” Elias relaxed his arms, expression remaining neutral. “You needn’t worry. I don’t intend to conscript unless it is absolutely necessary.”

“Good. I appreciate it.” Alistair then glanced up at the woman beside him. “I believe you can take it from here, Warden-Commander.”

Brielle and Julius exchanged a glance before their wide eyes went to her. She took a step with her chin up, regarding them with the steely stare of a general. Elias also looked up at her, inwardly surprised. He’d half expected a tougher-looking woman, but she was slimmer and more feminine than he’d imagined from the way the letters described her. Though the scar across her face certainly proved she was no wallflower. 

“My name is Everil and I stand before you as your commander, rather than queen. So speak freely if you must after I have spoken my piece,” she said, her gentle voice carrying a chilling edge. “As you know, during past Blights, the darkspawn have retreated back into the Deep Roads after the archdemon was defeated. That should be the norm, based on history. Unfortunately, that doesn’t appear to have happened this time. We have received reports of sizable groups of darkspawn attacking villages to the north, which tells me that instead of fleeing underground, a portion of them may have moved towards the coastlands.”

Brielle furrowed her brow, crossing her arms. “That’s odd… bigger groups need something to follow to stay organized. Are you certain a Warden slew the dragon? I mean… you two are alive.” 

“Brielle…!” Julius whispered with a scowl. “Are you questioning the Commander?”

Everil raised her hand to calm him. “It’s an honest question, given what we know, ser Julius.” She gazed at the elf soberly. “Yes. I’m certain I slew the dragon. I pierced its heart and nearly died myself. The reason I yet live is…” A brief pause followed, while beside her Alistair gave her an uncomfortable sideways glance. “Unknown to us.” 

“If there is no Blight, then it could be a large raid,” Elias interjected, a hand on his chin. “Either way, they must be dealt with.”

“I couldn’t agree more…” Everil’s gaze fell to the ground for a moment, recalling the visions she saw a few weeks ago during their child’s birth. She swallowed and reverted her sharpened stare to him. “That will be your first mission after you arrive in Amaranthine. Recruit more Wardens and find out more about what’s happening. Kill all the darkspawn terrorizing our coastlands.”

Elias dipped his head. “We will get it done, Commander. Do we have what is required for the Joining Ritual?”

“The seneschal has the information you seek. He is a trusted fellow, so he is discrete. Just know that we secured part of what we need after I killed the archdemon.”

“Very well. We will leave for Amaranthine immediately. Or shall we wait for you, Commander?” 

The queen shook her head. “Unfortunately, I cannot go with you… not yet. I’m still recovering from childbirth, so I will be no good in a fight at this time.”

Brielle arched an eyebrow. “I thought Grey Wardens couldn’t bear little ones.”

“Yeah, well… we’re full of surprises,” Alistair answered with a grin, gently grabbing Everil's hand and bringing it to his lips. “Right, my love?”

A blush crept up to her face at his brazen gesture before their guests and she playfully rolled her eyes at him. “Anyhow…” She cleared her throat. “You have leave to go now unless you have questions. I expect you to send me reports on the situation in Ferelden henceforth.”

With a fist to his chest, Elias bowed to them, speaking with full confidence. “We shall, your Majesty.” Then he spun about, heading back the way they came. 

After a bow, Julius made to follow, while Brielle stared at the pair on the throne with more questions at the tip of her tongue. She opened her mouth to speak when the burly man yanked her by the arm, earning a squeal. “Let’s go,  _ chérie... _ ”

“Oh, you are no fun!” she whined as he dragged her away with him. 

Alistair and Everil watched them go until they disappeared behind the great doors, his expression sobering. Silence stretched between them, then he murmured, his troubled voice reaching only her, “You should have told them about what you saw…” 

She gazed down at him, then released a heavy breath. “I would have… had I known for certain what it was.”

He gently kissed her hand once more, exhaling through the nose. “I suppose we’ll have to wait and see what they find out.”

“Yes…” Everil licked her lips and stared back at the gates. Those three Grey Wardens would be the ones to restore their order in Ferelden. She only hoped they would work quickly so that fewer innocents would perish at darkspawn hands. And so that their people could once again sleep peacefully at night, without fear and without death at their doorstep.


	2. A Brewing Plot

⚜

  
  
  
  


_ G _ _ ray clouds cloaked the skies as chilling _ rain drizzled over Greenbanks, the largest town of the Holloway Bannorn. The scent of baking bread intertwined with the smell of manure and dirt as plumes of smoke rose from chimneys on the wood and stone huts. Some of the residents walked the streets in spite of the dreary weather, wolf furs and leather offering them some protection from the elements. The clucking of chickens and the cries of goats were heard, accompanied by the barking of dogs coming from the bann’s kennels outside. 

Four horses galloped in through the gates, their hooves kicking up mud as they pulled a carriage over the major road and to a castle in the distance. A few of the banns were to meet there for negotiations, some with less than honest intentions. 

The carriage stopped at the gate, and its door swung open. Fine leather boots descended upon its step, the wearer’s weight making it sink as he exited the covered coach. He was a heavy, balding man, with a wide waist and a white beard that nearly reached his belt. 

Making a disgusted grimace at the wet soil, he wobbled to the door and knocked with a meaty fist. A latch on it slid aside, revealing a pair of brown eyes. The gate opened for him almost immediately, the aging man behind it dipping his head and granting him entrance to the torch-lit main hall. Suits of armor and portraits lined the walls, while a long, gray carpet covered the floor. A large hearth burned at the end of the room, offering a bit of heat in the otherwise cold interior of the castle. 

“Welcome to Greenbanks, Bann Loren,” greeted the servant. He had on a plain wool tunic and trousers, his hair white as snow. 

“Aye… Just take me to the meeting.” Loren slid off his cloak and tossed it at him without care before grabbing on to his belt. 

The servant ignored the crude treatment, and once again bowed his head. “Right away, my lord.”

A distance to the right, through a long corridor, the sound of conversation resonated from behind a closed door. Four men gathered within what was the dining room, all seated at an oak wood table as they drank ale and ate freshly made bread and dried fruits. Two female elves clad in gray wool served them drinks and food, each walking with their heads hanging low and avoiding their stares as much as possible. The men either ogled them or ignored them. 

One got too close to a gruff redheaded man, receiving a spank that earned him a surprised squeal. She scrambled away from him, blushing madly as he laughed roughly. He wore tan leathers, and a black cloak hanging down his back. “You keep your knife-ears well-fed, Gerald. I like that,” he jested to the one at the head of the table.

The blond man sent him a scowl, his white tunic loose over his toned chest. He was the youngest among them all, having inherited his title upon his father's recent passing. “Stop touching my servants, Caldwell,” he said in irritation. “Or I’ll have that hand of yours chopped off.”

Caldwell snickered. “Aye, aye.”

A loud clank came as the door to the chamber opened, drawing the men’s attention. 

“Ah, you’re finally here, Loren.” Gerald greeted in annoyance. “For a moment there I thought you wouldn’t bloody show.”

“Hrmph…” Loren went to the closest chair, sitting at the end of the table and making the wood creak in protest. He waved off the irritated looks they sent his way, then grabbed the pint of ale. “Had some business to attend to on my way here. Now let’s get on with it.” 

“Right…” Gerald curled his nose at him as if he’d smelled something rotten, then addressed the others seated nearby, his expression rigid as coarse rock. “I called the lot of you here to discuss our… grievances. I’ll go straight to the point... I get you’ve problems with crops all around and are looking for fertile land to farm. Problem is that the hills the Blight spared—the same ones you idiots were battling over a few days ago—are within Holloway’s borders and not any of yours. That makes them my property, which is something you all should know by now. So tell me, why in Andraste’s flaming knickers would you try to take them from me?”

“Take them from you? Last I checked, those hills are in North Dane territory. Or did your senile father give you the wrong deed before he croaked?” asked the man sitting to his right, a bronzed fellow with black, shoulder-length hair and a thick mustache. He had on hardened leather armor, a brown cloak over his shoulders.

Gerald shot him a heated glare. “Watch it, Harrick. I may try to be civil here, but if you insult my father’s memory one more time…”

“All right, Gerald,” said another man, stroking his black beard, his hair in a ponytail. He too had hardened leather, with a thick cloak that shielded most of his body from the cold. “The hills are in your lands… but what of the valley further south? You sent scouts to survey it recently, but that land belongs to Falconhurst…  _ my  _ bannorn, by the way.” He leaned forward, questioning him with his eyes. “You’re faring better than most. Me included. Are you just not satisfied with what you have?”

“My scouts lost their way in the last storm, Edgar. They were camping there when your men roughed them up and sent them back to me with black eyes.” Gerald threw his head back and downed his ale, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. 

“Right… and I’m the queen of Antiva…” Edgar muttered, sending him a sideways scowl. 

“Don’t believe me if you don’t want to.” He shrugged. “I don’t need your sorry excuse for a valley… It’s not that good for crops, anyway.”

“And how would you know that unless you surveyed it first?” 

“Consider it intuition…” Gerald half-smiled. “I can sense mediocrity from miles away.”

Edgar glared daggers at him. “You…”

"Aye. All right!" Caldwell reached for his belt, pulling out a bag of coin and slamming it on the table. “How about I buy those hills from you, Gerald? Fair and square!”

Gerald glanced at him, slightly surprised. Then he went for the bag of coin and lifted it, feeling its weight. “Hmm…”

Harrick shot the man across from him a dirty look. “You bastard… My starving villagers found those hills first! Looking for whatever they could eat, mind you! You don’t even have half the people I have. You lost most of them to the darkspawn when you ran like a coward and left them to die!”

“What’s it Harrick?” Caldwell snickered, showing rotting teeth without shame. “Bronach’s got the elves to pick the crops and I’m a businessman… it ain’t my fault you lack foresight. And Crestwood was crawling with blighted ones anyway, they were dead meat either way.”

“You brought those elves from Tevinter just as the Blight hit…” Harrick bit out, his green eyes glistening dangerously under the candlelight. “You bought them as slaves to pick your crops, dressing it up as if you rescued them from slavery. But you pay them with bread and water alone while you line your pockets with coin. Tell me, goat-fucker... What would our king say if he found out about your little scheme?”

An arm shot out, gripping the man by the front of his shirt and knocking his pint of ale over in the process. “What lies you make up!”

“Oi! Calm your arses!” Gerald tried to intervene. 

“They aren’t lies! I’ll bet the questionable men you house in that fortress of yours can attest to it!” Harrick yelled back at his face. “Only reason you got away with it is because good King Cailan was dead and Loghain was too busy watching his own damn back!”

“Shut your mouth!” Caldwell drew his dagger in one swift motion and pressed it to the other man’s throat. “Shut your damn mouth! You go to the king with those claims and I’ll—”

A deep, wheezy laugh drew the attention of the four men, disrupting the argument. They all cast their eyes on Loren, who was staring at them with a glint in his eyes. He bit out a chunk of his bread and chewed, laughing through his plump nose. 

Caldwell glowered at the man at the end of their table. “What’s so damn funny?”

“You fools fight over crumbs like starving mongrels,” Loren spoke with a full mouth, then swallowed before taking a drink of his ale. “It’s pathetic.”

“Rich coming from the third arsehole who tried to plant his flag on my lands.” Gerald set down the bag of coin, his stare just as dangerous as the redheaded man’s next to him. “You’ve been quiet for a while, you bag of lard. What’s it you’re scheming now?”

“Nothing…” Loren laughed again. “But it is quite… interesting how none of you see the bigger picture. The true cause of our… grievances, as you call them.”

“What are you on about?” Caldwell released his hold on Harrick, nearly shoving him to the floor while arching a bushy brow at the older man. “The cause was the damn taint spreading over our soil. What else would it be?”

Loren wiped ale from his mustache, snorting like a pig. “We have puppets in the royal palace, that’s what else. Puppets controlled by those who were once our masters and whose strings will soon wrap around our necks and hang us.”

“Be careful what you say, Loren. Words like those can be taken out of context,” said Harrick, sending the old man a suspicious look. 

“Can they?” He leaned forward, elbows on the table as the candles at its center illuminated his wicked expression. “Tell me… What's to stop the Orlesians from coming back now that we’ve no actual ruler? Now that our… lands are in the hands of a weakling?”

“Ridiculous…” Gerald lifted his nose. “King Alistair unified us after a brutal civil war and ended the Fifth Blight.”

“Nae, friend!” Loren chuckled deeply. “Eamon did that. Eamon and the Hero of Ferelden were the ones who put  _ him _ —a bastard child even Maric deemed inferior—on the throne. And both Eamon and the Cousland family have ties and dealings with Orlais. Or have you forgotten that already?”

“That…” Gerald seemed to hesitate. “That may be true but that does not prove the Orlesians are influencing our government.” 

“Oh, truly? Are you certain?” Loren took another bite of his bread and gulped it. “Think about it… Even now as you argue over who owns what, over whom to feed, whom to kill over unblighted lands... your so-called king is sitting on his throne doing nothing to help you. Even now as we remain weakened by the Blight he has done little to strengthen our defenses against another Orlesian invasion. How long do you think we will last if Orlais decides to cross the border, hmm? How long do you think you will stay freemen?”

“What in the Maker’s name are you implying?” Edgar nearly hissed, an uncomfortable look on his face. “That we should march over to the royal palace and kick him off the throne? You’re a raving lunatic…”

“Am I really? As I sit here and look at your faces, I can see part of you agrees with what I speak...” The old man drank three big gulps of ale, then grinned with foam trickling down his chin. “You agree with me in that perhaps you should be angry with them instead of each other. That perhaps it is time that we become true freemen… rather than follow the whims of a weak king who will soon hand our lands over to our former masters on a silver platter. That perhaps if we work together, our alliance can secure more food, more resources and we can then rule ourselves and defend ourselves from all enemies without waiting for a king to tell us when to raise arms. Each as our own nation, as in the old days before the great King Calenhad Theirin brought our ancestors together under his rule.”

Silence stretched between the men then, hanging in the room like a shroud. Each of them glanced at the other, uncertainty flashing over their features. While Loren watched them like a vulture, the grin on his face broadening as he waited for them to speak.

“There… There may yet be a small kernel of truth in your treasonous claims, old man,” Gerald finally spoke, rising from his chair and folding his arms. “But I for one will not go down the same path Teyrn Loghain chose when his paranoia bid him he leave King Cailan to die in Ostagar. As you saw, it didn’t work out well for him in the end.”

“I agree…” Harrick uttered beside him, shoulders stiff.

“Besides, the king and the Hero of Ferelden are well-loved throughout the country,” said Edgar, crossing his arms. “There's no way the other lords will believe as you do.”

“So you would risk your lands and your power because you're cowards? You would choose to remain this pathetic king's lapdogs until he sells you to his kennel masters and we lose our freedom once more. Is that it? How utterly disappointing…” Loren gave each of them a critical look, then smiled and chuckled darkly. “Very well then… You lot know where to find me once you're done killing each other over scraps like the lapdogs you are.”

With irritated stares, they watched the bann rise from his chair, nearly toppling it over. He spun about without another word, his heavy steps taking him to the door and leaving the four other men in uncomfortable silence. And as he made his way back to his carriage, crossing the long hall with steady strides, a sneer made its way to his oily face.  _ I have planted the seed... now it is time to watch the roots split the earth. _


	3. The Grey Wardens

⚜

  
  
  
  


_ T _ _ he sun hung low as boots  _ ran over soil and pine needles, accompanied by the chime of weapons and armor and a woman’s heavy breathing. Longbow in hand, Brielle sped through the woods, sweat trickling down her temple. Two others ran behind her, also in Grey Warden vestments as they all hurried to the edge of the woods. They emerged in a wide field, the breeze blowing over blades of grass as they crossed the distance to a group of five more Wardens and five recruits of all races gathering ahead. 

With a scowl, Elias spun to the approaching scouts, seeing the urgency etched on their faces. 

“They are coming in numbers!” Brielle shouted before reaching him. “And a Hurlock General is leading them!”

“How many?” he asked. 

She licked her lips. “More than usual… Thirty… Fifty, maybe.” 

“By the Maker...” Julius walked up to the two, drawing his weapon. “That’s the largest pocket we have found. They have not been hitting just the coastlands like the Commander initially thought, either.”

“They are headed for the Bannorn. We have to stop them here and now or they will massacre many more innocents,” Elias answered, drawing his blade and shield. He turned to address the others behind them as Brielle’s party rejoined their ranks. “Wardens! A war band of darkspawn is prowling our way! We are outnumbered, but we mustn’t let them get past us, no matter the cost!”

“Hooah!” the men cried back, raising their weapons. 

“Recruits! Consider this your first test!” Elias yelled to them, walking the line as his steely blues met every one of their stares. “If you truly are worthy of joining our order, then you will sink your blades into their foul hearts without fear! And know, that should you perish here today, you will die full-fledged Grey Wardens!”

The men without the blue uniform steeled themselves, also raising their weapons with a cry. “Hooah!”

“Brothers and sisters! Remember our oath!” Elias cried out over them. “In war!”

“Victory!” they roared in unison.

“In peace!”

“Vigilance!”

He drove his blade to the heavens. “And in death!” 

“Sacrifice!” 

Evil whispers filled the Wardens’ minds as Elias faced the thicket. 

A hurlock clad in bronze plate armor stepped out of the woods, drawing a great axe as its gray eyes set on them through the slits of its helmet. It growled deep in its throat as more of its kin—hulocks and genlocks—emerged behind it, all wielding nightmarish weapons. They roared and screeched, their black armor blending in with the shadows between the trees. Then another resounding roar came. Louder and more frightening. As a massive ogre pushed through the woods with its jagged teeth dripping drool. 

The Wardens gripped their weapons tightly as Elias’s glare narrowed. He swung his sword at the enemy, crying out, “Slay them all!”

And both sides charged, the darkspawn flooding the field. Their weapons clashed. Black and red blood spilled over the grass as they battled, the putrid stench of the darkspawn invading their nostrils. 

Gritting his teeth, Elias blocked a hurlock’s sword with his shield, drove it aside, then plunged his sword into its gut. He twisted, slashing open another’s chest. He pivoted on one foot, swinging with his shield and hitting a genlock across the head. His sword pierced through its throat, then he shoved it away and freed his weapon before engaging the following foe.

A screaming Brielle jumped forward, dagger flipped backward as she slashed through a hurlock’s neck. Like a gust of wind, she whirled about, burying her second dagger in the next, then swinging a leg at the jaw of the one beside it. She ducked, evading a sideways swipe from an axe, then shot up, stabbing its wielder beneath the jaw. Her arm went behind her head, blocking a slash, then she spun, parrying it while yanking her other weapon from the hurlock’s head to cleave through the other. 

The Wardens downed several more enemies, while some of the recruits fell to darkspawn blades. The ogre’s roar shook the ground as it stomped towards them from the back, shoving past its brethren and heading straight to the warriors in silver and blue. It brought up a massive fist, intent on pummeling them to dust. 

Julius rolled, dodging the hit as it swooshed over him, yet connected with a man behind him, sending him flying. He clicked his tongue and rose, slashing at the beast’s side. Black blood poured from its wound as it roared, then swung at him again. He ducked, then rolled again, avoiding its grasp. “Brielle!” he called. 

“On it!” she yelled from a few steps back, then barked at the two recruits beside her. “With me!”

The three of them ran to the ogre without hesitation as Julius slashed at its leg, leaving a deep gash on its thigh. 

“Get the legs!” she ordered, promptly cutting at its knee. The men followed suit, surrounding it as it tried to grab them. 

The ogre howled and fell on a knee. Enraged, it seized one recruit, lifting him from the ground and bringing him to its mouth. But before it could bite down, Julius had already sprung up, leading with his greatsword. His blade pierced the ogre’s chest, burying itself to the hilt as the beast roared, dropping its captive. It slammed onto the ground with him on top, roaring one last time. 

“Yes!” Julius yelled at its grotesque mug. “Die you son of a bitch!”

Brielle cut down a genlock, then gazed up at him. “How many ogres is that?”

He plucked his weapon out of it and hopped off, grinning widely. “That’s our fifteenth.” He then turned to the shaken recruits beside them. “That’s right you two! You got your first ogre! Mark it!”

Elias cried out as he charged at the Hurlock General. It stopped his blade with its gauntlet, then swung its axe, forcing the Warden to block. Its axe met his shield, the edge screeching over the blue griffons painted over it. He kicked at its leg, tripping it onto its back, then thrust downward. It deflected his blade, then kicked upward, hitting his middle and staggering him. It rolled onto its feet, then swung with both hands, aiming for his neck. The Warden ducked, evading the hit, then kicked forth, driving his sword through its weaker armor plating and into its gut. He yanked his sword out of it, letting it crumble to its knees. And the Warden readied his weapon and swung in an arch. 

Black poured from the hurlock’s ashen neck, and it gargled hoarsely as it dropped on its chest and bled onto the dirt. 

In moments, they slew the rest of the darkspawn, their bodies scattered over the fields along with those of some of their recruits. A few others knelt or sat, nursing injuries as their peers approached to help. Meanwhile, Elias gazed over them, panting for breath and with wisps of his light-brown hair sticking to his soiled features. He raised his sword. “Well done! We have won!”

The men cheered with him, also pointing their weapons to the skies.

“What now, Elias?” Brielle stepped up to him, sheathing her daggers as Julius walked beside her, resting his sword on a shoulder. 

“We return to Vigil’s Keep,” he replied, putting away his blade. “The recruits we have left need to undergo the Joining Ritual, then I must send a report to the Commander.”

She huffed, blowing up her bangs. “Maybe this was the last of the darkspawn incursions? There cannot possibly be much more gathering in organized groups. At least, this is the last one we heard about in a long while.” 

He nodded. “Perhaps… but we will have to build our numbers. We need Wardens in more places to know for certain.” 

“Right… But I say we at least celebrate the win we had today.” Julius rotated his neck, smirking wickedly. “The last batch of ale I brewed should be good to drink as soon as we get back.”

“Hopefully it tastes better…” Brielle smacked his back and whirled about to head to the rest of the Wardens talking nearby. “The one before it tasted like piss with worn stockings in it.”

He went with her, gently punching her on the shoulder. “Watch it,  _ chérie…  _ Or you won’t get to have any.” 

“Make better ale if you don’t want me to complain.”

A rare half-smile tugged at the edge of Elias’s lips as he watched them go. Most of them survived the battle, but he couldn’t help the uncomfortable feeling settling over him. They had yet to find out what was keeping the darkspawn on the surface. What was emboldening them to follow stronger members of their own kin instead of an archdemon. 

His eyes narrowed, and he closed a fist.  _ We will have to stand vigilant until we learn what's driving them... _

⚜⚜⚜⚜

Beautiful greens adorned the old ash trees outside the balcony as birds chirped and flapped their wings over their branches. They hopped from branch to branch in search of seeds or unsuspecting insects. And a single robin landed on a balustrade, singing its sweet melody as the cooing of a baby joined its song.

A smiling Everil sat on a rocking chair with a bundle in her arms, and her mabari lying next to her walnut skirts, which were trimmed with fennec fur. She admired the child's innocent face as a delicate finger caressed her rosy cheek.  _ Maker, she looks so much like her father…  _ She chortled to herself.  _ At least she has my eyes. _

Two months have passed since their child's birth, and both she and little Eleanor were healthy and without complications. They had seen no signs of the taint causing immediate harm to the babe yet either, but they kept a close watch. Still, she couldn’t help but wonder if she shared their dreams. Especially the one she’d been having about that strange darkspawn creature that had been haunting her every other night. 

“More tea, my lady?” asked an elven maid by the tray beside her. 

Everil glanced up at her. “Yes, please.”

The young woman served her a steaming cup, setting it on the small table next to her. 

“There you are…” 

She spun her head to see Alistair enter the balcony, his leather boots clicking on the polished floors as he headed her way. He was clad in more fine, brown leather, and white fur vestiges. While the crown still sat on his head, something he only wore for formal matters with nobility inside the castle and at Eamon’s instruction. 

“Hi, darling,” she greeted with a smile. “You’ve returned sooner than I thought. How was your meeting?”

The question drew a sigh out of him before he gave her a soft kiss on the lips. “It went as well as you would imagine…” he muttered, then bent lower to kiss the top of the baby’s head.

“That bad, huh…?” Everil frowned as he practically plopped onto the chair across from her. 

“Some weren’t too fond of my idea of granting Valendran a seat in my counsel…” He crossed his legs, clasping his hands at his lap before glaring at the garden outside. “To put it lightly…”

“I’m sorry, love…” She gave him a sympathetic smile. “I knew some would disagree when I suggested it, but I did not expect it would cause such a stir.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for. You made the right call.” He half-smiled at her, letting out a humorless chuckle. “I just don’t understand why they make such a big deal out of it… One would think I invited the Orlesians into my court.”

“Many of Denerim’s older nobles are too set in their ways. Give them time. They will warm up to the change once they see things are not as bad as they think.”

“I hope so,” Alistair huffed moodily. “Because I won’t change my mind. The elves in the Alienage deserve a voice, just as they do. That they didn’t have one before I came along should be the actual crime here.”

The baby cooed, reaching up with her small hand. Everil smiled a little, letting her hold her index finger. “How did Valendran take it?” 

“He was surprised, but welcomed it.” A genuine smile made its way onto his face. “He sends you his regards and his thanks. Perhaps you’ll get to see him when he comes into the castle next week. He says they need to choose a new elder before he can begin his new responsibilities.”

“I see… Well, at least this will be a step forward for them…” She adjusted the child, using her blanket to gently wipe the bit of drool that had drizzled down her chin.

Alistair took in the sight of them, his features softening as warmth spread over his chest. He had spent less time with them than he’d like over the past weeks, with his kingly duties constantly pulling him in all directions. And it wasn’t just their company he missed, but he missed his wife too. 

Even with the magic used to heal her, Everil hadn’t felt like herself since the birth. To the point where they hadn’t been intimate with each other yet. Still, she could have as much time as she needed to recover. He wouldn’t push her or force her into anything she didn’t want. Even if he sorely yearned to feel that supple skin and explore those ravishing curves as he made love to her.

Everil glanced at him, the hunger in his stare telling her exactly where his mind was going. But although she felt terrible about it, he would need to wait for her just a little while longer. “Would you like to hold her?” she asked, trying to drive his attention away from her and to their daughter.

He blinked as if snapped out of a spell. “Oh! Uhm… yes.” Leaning forward, he carefully reached for the bundle, taking it from her. Eleanor whined and moved her legs and arms, making him slightly nervous, her body much smaller in his muscular arms. After adjusting her, he wrapped the blanket around her to keep her warm. He stroked her chin with his finger, gazing lovingly down at her. “Hi, my wittle pwincess…” He puckered up his lips. “Did you missh your papa? Because he misshed you vewy much… Yesh he did...”

The baby cooed in response, her tiny hand reaching for his mouth.

“Oh, look at those wittle fingers…” He gently placed a kiss to her palm. “Yum… Better than the finest cheese, I tell you… And trust me, I would certainly know...”

Eleanor giggled, his scruff tickling her.

With a light chuckle, Everil picked up her tea, taking a drink from it. It was almost too sweet to see him so happy every time he held her. And she was grateful for having been able to give him the family he always wanted every time she saw them together.

The sound of clanking armor reached their ears as a knight approached the balcony. She was a female, clad in steel plating and chain mail, and with a great sword strapped to her back. Her hair was short and dark, framing a pale, fair face with bright blue eyes. She was one of the youngest knights in their guard, one respected by many of her peers. She stopped at the doorway, drawing their stares as she bowed to them. “Your Majesty, my lady… Uhm?”

Alistair gazed at her with raised eyebrows, the baby’s fingers still over his bottom lip and chin as he playfully nibbled on one.

“What is it, Mhairi?” Everil laughed a little at the odd look on her face. 

“Uhm…” She cleared her throat. “I apologize for the interruption… But you received a raven from the Grey Wardens, my lady.” The knight came to them, handing her a folded piece of paper. “It was just delivered at the gates.”

Setting the cup back on the table, Everil’s expression sobered, and she took the document from her. “Thank you…”

The knight bowed once more, then turned to leave. 

“Mhairi?”

She paused, facing the queen. “Yes, your Majesty?”

“Did you not express the desire to perhaps join the Grey Wardens?”

“Ah… Yes, your Majesty.” Mhairi stood straight, hands clasped behind her back. “Though I have not yet decided.”

“Then stay. The news may interest you.” Everil unfolded the letter and read through it. Her expression remained neutral as she took in the words. 

“What is it?” asked Alistair, his own features sobering. 

“It’s Warden Elias’s latest report. He says they defeated the several darkspawn incursions, including a large one just west of the Bannorn. Much of the coast and the west are clear.” She released a sigh. “He says they lost a few recruits, but the losses were minimal compared to the numbers they faced. They found nothing more related to what is causing them to stay above the surface, however.”

“So long as they could defeat them…” Alistair muttered uncomfortably. They already had enough problems rebuilding as it was. The ongoing darkspawn attacks didn’t help matters. He glanced at the knight, then at her, trying to be discrete. “Did they… say anything about your dreams?”

“No…” she sighed. “Nothing. And I could have sworn the darkspawn concentrated their activity in Amaranthine.” She knitted her brow, lips pressed into a line. “I feel as if something is missing. Perhaps I should go see how things are going for myself… But that would mean leaving the palace for a time.”

Understanding her hesitation, Alistair leaned back in his chair as the baby toyed with the buckles of his gambeson. “I know you’re the Warden-Commander now, my love. But if you’re not ready to return to the fight, then it’s all right to step back and let Elias and the others handle things. They are capable enough and you can help in other ways as queen.” He smiled reassuringly at her. “Besides, you’re the Hero of Ferelden. Maker knows you have more than earned the right to rest on your laurels. At least for a while.” 

“Forgive me if I overstep my bounds, my queen…” Mhairi interjected, keeping her back stiff as a regal tree. “But I believe the king is right. The darkspawn attacks may be unusual, but the Wardens have managed the situation well enough. Even our scouts haven’t reported recent sightings or attacks in some time.”

Everil slowly lowered the letter. It wasn’t long ago that she carried the Grey Warden order Duncan left with them to defeat the Blight. And after a year of constant battles, fighting for their survival and that of the country, it almost felt strange to stop traveling and settle down. Still, she had other obligations now, on top of her and Alistair still shouldering the lives of thousands.

“I suppose it remains to be seen how widespread the darkspawn truly were… or if they still are.” She glanced up at the knight. “Just stand ready, ser Mhairi. You may join their ranks sooner than you think. If not as a Warden, then as a helping hand directly from me.”

Mhairi slammed a fist to her chest and bowed. “Of course, your Majesty. It would be an honor.”


	4. A King's Heavy Crown

⚜

  
  
  
  


_E_ _mptiness. Cold and barren._

The deep dark possessed her soul and cast her into a void as the incessant chant of disembodied voices threatened to drive her mad. Her footsteps sounded hollow and the chime of her Grey Warden armor saturated her ears. The familiar weight of her weapons lay on her hips, comforting, but not reassuring enough in this familiar place. 

The Deep Roads. Where she was to die one day as all Grey Wardens who neared their inevitable demise. It was a place she hoped never to visit again, yet her nightmares dragged her to it each time. Before it was darkspawn that lured her, the taint showing her pictures of what went on in their sick heads. Displaying to her the depths of their cruelty and their lust for flesh and blood. 

This time the calling came from one being. One that seemed to drown out the whispering voices and demand her full attention. 

_Am I dying?_

She felt her heart race and her body break in a cold sweat. If the Calling, the taint’s last summon, caused these dream then she had little time left. But it didn’t feel as if it were so. It didn’t feel like it was her time to go. Yet still her curse kept its incessant prodding on her soul. Luring her further and further to the source. 

And it stood before her at the end of this dark tunnel. Staring at her. But not really seeing. Talking to her, but uttering not a sound. It stood taller than her, beckoning her with one clawed hand. And there was nothing she could do to keep herself from going to it. No matter how much she willed herself to stop. To turn back. Her feet walked to it as if its will ruled over her very being. 

And she let it take her. Let it embrace her as if it were her lover before it whispered into her ear.

Gasping for air, Everil shot up with a start and gripped her aching chest. Eyes wide, she tried to see what was in front of her, still seeing the darkness at first, until reality finally dawned on her. She swallowed, holding her head with one hand as the voices in her brain gave way to her crying child's wails. It was still dark outside but the glow of the fireplace illuminated the grand bed-chamber in which she’d been sleeping, granting her visibility of the intricate decor that now cast ominous shadows she wouldn’t dare stare at for too long. 

With a disturbed expression, she slid off the four-poster bed and nearly tripped on her own nightgown as she scrambled to the white bassinet near the fire. Bjorn perked his head up from his place beside it, curiously observing her as her trembling hands reached for the tightly wrapped bundle inside. She lifted it into her arms as the babe’s cries continued without pause. “Shh… It’s all right, darling. Mama’s here…” she whispered, lightly rocking it while struggling to regain control of her own nerves. 

Awakened by the noise, Alistair sat up in the bed, groggily gazing her way. He wrinkled his brow, taking notice of her stiff posture and her trembling breaths. “Everil…?” he called, pushing himself to his feet before trudging toward her. He placed a hand on the small of her back, his touch causing her to jolt up. A concerned sigh escaped him at her reaction. “You dreamed of it again…”

Everil nodded slowly, wearing her bottom lip.

“Bloody nightmares…” he murmured, carefully wrapping his arms around her and drawing her to him. She pressed her cheek to his bare torso, his warmth and his scent comforting, while his closeness also eased the baby’s cries. His fingers stroked her hair, his breath gracing a few strands as he spoke, “Did you at least see what it was this time?”

“No…” She gulped. “It just… stares at me with its eyes hidden behind a mask. I see its lips move and feel its call, but I can’t hear its words nor can I understand what it mouths. Its claws crawl down my spine… like icy knives over my skin…” A shudder rocked her, her voice barely audible. “I don’t know what it wants from me, Alistair. But whatever it is, it is not a normal darkspawn. It is… something more.”

Alistair held her tighter, angry at the creature for tormenting her in her sleep and frustrated at being unable to help her. Grey Wardens had frequent nightmares because of their connection with the darkspawn. It was normal and expected for the two of them, far more frequent during the Blight and when darkspawn were near. But this… this was different, and he didn’t like it at all.

“Why is it going after you?” he asked quietly. “Why haven’t I seen it too?”

“I don’t know… But what frightens me the most is that I think Eleanor can see it.” She withdrew from him to gaze at the still weeping child in her arms. “She wakes up crying every time I dream of it.”

“If that’s true... then that would mean she does have the taint, as we do. Or at least… some form of it.” He gently stroked the baby's forehead with his thumb, sadness settling over his features. “Damn it… I wish we knew what's going on. I wish there was some record of what happens when two Grey Wardens have a child.”

“She seems normal…” Everil uttered, observing her worriedly. “There is no increase in appetite. Her dreams don’t seem frequent. She sleeps peacefully during the day and most nights.”

“I suppose there’s that…” He continued to stroke the baby’s forehead, gradually soothing her into silence. “Though I worry about her lifespan… I want her to live a long life...”

Dread clutched Everil’s heart at those words. Could they have cursed the babe to die young as they would? And if that was the case, would she live to adulthood or would they lose her before then? The taint was progressive, slow to kill. And she would have inherited it indirectly from them, while they had to drink darkspawn blood to become Grey Wardens. Perhaps her melding with it differed from theirs and her young body could tolerate it better. Or perhaps not.

“Alistair…” She gazed up at him with a subtle frown. “Do you think there could be a cure? A cure... for the taint?”

He paused for a moment at her question. “I have no idea, my love... I never heard of any Grey Wardens being cured. But there could be... There may yet be secrets in the order that you and I haven't been told yet. Or perhaps even other Wardens.”

“Then if there is a cure, I will find it,” she swore with unwavering resolve. “And this… thing in our nightmares… I will make it stop. I won't allow anything or anyone to threaten our daughter or our future together.”

Alistair stared at her for a moment, surprised by how quickly she could go from uncertain to the strong, unyielding woman he'd fallen in love with. A smile came to his lips as he gently cupped her cheek, loving ambers staring intently into her azure orbs. “When you speak like that… so sure of yourself… I feel as if we can take on the world together.” He leaned closer and softly kissed her lips before pressing his forehead to hers. “I will help you in every way I can, as always… And we'll make it through this. You. Me. And our little one.”

She closed her eyes, basking in his presence. “Thank you…”

A quiet coo made the two of them peer down at the baby, who was now calm, staring up at them. Alistair smiled at her, finding the curiosity on her chubby face utterly adorable. “Aww… look at you…” He carefully took her from Everil. “All wide awake now… Your mama and papa need to go back to sleep, you know.”

Eleanor cooed again, blinking innocently at him. She tried to move her arms, but the cotton wrappings kept her still. The cloth served as a cocoon, to keep her warm from the chilling Fereldan nights and safe from rolling over on her own while they slept. 

“Oh, really? So you're saying you're not tired?” he asked in mock seriousness, returning to the bed and sitting on the edge as he held her up at eye level. “Well, that's too bad, wittle missy. You need to get plenty of sleep so you can grow as tall and strong as your mama.”

The baby cooed in response.

“Would you like Papa to tell you a bedtime story?” he offered with a loving grin. “I have plenty of those… Of course, I will spare you the gory details. Perhaps even replace them with pretty things.” He brought her closer, gently nuzzling the tip of her nose while puckering his lips. “We wouldn't want you to get any more of those pesky nightmares, now would we?”

Eleanor let out a giggle, showing him a toothless grin of her own.

Chuckling slightly, Everil stared at the pair, mentally exhausted, but smiling nonetheless. Bjorn padded to her, coming to sit beside her as she absently petted his head. And although she worried about what was in store for them, she was determined to battle the odds. She would save them from the creature in her dreams and from the taint. No matter what.

⚜⚜⚜⚜

The cheerful chirping of birds came as the sunlight bathed the bed-chamber. Crimson drapes swayed with the gentle breeze, bringing the crisp morning air as the sound of sparing soldiers echoed from the training grounds outside the palace. An elven servant set a tray of wine, freshly baked bread, fruits, cheese, and ham over a table by one of the arched windows. She adjusted the rose on the thin-necked vase atop it, then began making the plates for the monarchs seated by it. Meanwhile, Eleanor cooed in the distance as her nanny changed and fed her, their mabari lying by the bassinet as she worked.

Wearing a plain white, long-sleeved tunic and black trousers, Alistair folded his arms and leaned back in his chair. He glanced up at the serving girl, who had her head down as she tended to Everil and him. It had been almost a year since he'd been thrown into this life, and he still wasn't entirely used to it. The pampering and the reverence felt like too much and he couldn't help missing the times in which he was nothing but a man with a sword out to save the world. A nobody who just happened to have some dead king's blood running through his veins and whom everyone ignored.

There was a positive to this shift, however. More than one actually. He'd chosen this path himself, rather than others forcing it onto him as with past decisions. And he could now help others differently, even if that meant sacrificing the simpler life he'd yearned for. He could make their futures better. Give the less fortunate a fighting chance and listen to those who'd gone ignored for too long. Though, he knew not all of his vassals would agree with that approach.

He wanted to ensure humans treated the elves better across the country. To ensure the mages had more freedom. To expand relations with other nations through trade agreements and offers of peace—which he figured was the best way to grow Ferelden's capital and gain more influence in matters that affected Thedas as a whole. He'd even consider better relations with Orlais. Only he wasn't a fan of their duplicitous tendencies and he knew his people weren't too keen on them, with good reason.

 _Meaningful change can't happen without ruffling a few feathers…_ he thought as the maid poured wine into his cup. _But I have to tread carefully. I can't do things too quickly or jump in too fast or I could disturb the peace we fought so hard for. That wouldn't be good for anyone…_

“Thinking of something?” Everil asked sweetly from across the table, her pastel blue robe brightening under the sun's rays.

Her voice pulled him from his reverie, and he focused his eyes on her. Seeing her sitting there with him… with her dark, wavy locks framing that beautiful face of hers as her sky blues blinked at him… it was enough to soothe his weary mind. He admired her, his gaze traveling over her features, down her slender neck, and over her creamy chest, her nightgown frustratingly covering the rest of her from his view. And he suddenly felt thirsty. He went for his cup of wine as a gentle smile spread over his lips. “Yes… I was imagining a few things I have in mind for Ferelden.” He took a drink, tasting the sweet bitterness of the wine before lowering the cup to stare at her again. “But now I'm thinking about something else…”

She tilted her head, resting her chin on one hand. “Oh? And what's that?”

A devilish grin crept onto his face. “I'm thinking about how badly I want to tear off your clothes and make love to you on this very table.”

The maid's knife cut the ham sideways and hit the plate with a clatter. She blushed, muttering an apology.

“Alistair!” Everil picked up a grape from the tray and playfully threw it at him. He caught it in one hand, then popped it into his mouth, releasing a deep chuckle. He'd been patient thus far while waiting for her, but that didn't mean he couldn't have his fun in a different way. She looked adorable when she was red in the face.

Once the elf finished serving them, she excused herself with a bow and walked away.

Everil cleared her throat and sat up straight, pinching at her bread. “I thought you were fretting over meeting with the Orlesian envoy today…”

“I'm trying not to… It's only a conversation...” He picked up a piece of his ham, taking a bite. “Or at least one of many…” He swallowed and let out a long sigh, recalling letters from Cailan and the Empress of Orlais he'd found in the study after ascending to the throne. At first, they thought his late brother was only seeking a more solid alliance against the Blight. Then, as they read through the correspondence, it became evident there was more to it than just joining forces. He spoke quietly, ensuring only she could hear him, “I still can't believe Cailan's real plans were to marry the Empress and unify Ferelden and Orlais… The Landsmeet would have seen that as him handing the country over to an enemy on a silver platter.”

“Yes…” she said sadly. "Perhaps that's why Loghain did what he did?”

He looked away at the mention of the teyrn, taking another bite of his breakfast. “Maybe… but two wrongs don't make a right.”

Shaking her head, Everil cast her eyes down to her food. The news about Cailan having considered such a union were disappointing, to say the least. She wanted to think he still had Ferelden's best interests at heart, but even then it didn't feel justified. “You have to be careful with what you tell the man and control the conversation today, love. Especially with some of the lords attending.” She gave him a troubled look. “Perception is everything when it comes to dealing with former enemies. Even now, I hear whispers about my family's trips to Orlais and their ties to them, in spite of you having declared Howe’s claims unfounded.”

“I know…”

That was the downside of being a ruler. Everything had to do with appearances. One had to look capable and act the part, even during times of doubt or when one genuinely didn’t agree with or liked the person with whom they were negotiating. And he hated lying or veiling truths to get what was best for the country. But what he disliked more were those who tried to get what they wanted out of him by lying or pretending themselves. By hiding their fake smiles behind one hand as they blatantly kissed his boot to gain his favor. 

It was all theatrics in this game in which those in power won every time, while those without always lost. And the Orlesians were the best at it. One misstep and he would lose face with those who still carried scars from that brutal war in which his father freed Ferelden. And if he didn’t secure a fair alliance treaty with them, then the threat of a looming invasion would remain ever-present. 

Seeing the tension on his brow, Everil placed a hand on his. “It’ll be all right.”

With a sigh, he brought her fingers up to his lips. “You’ll be there with me, so of course I’ll be fine.”

She smiled slightly. “You give yourself too little credit, my husband. You don’t need my help to make the right choices.” 

“That may be so now… uhm.. mostly. But I had the best teacher,” he said with a grin of his own.

After they finished eating, getting dressed was a daily bustle of elves walking around the room, fetching and helping them with their clothing. He still wasn’t used to it either, especially when he had two women pulling and grabbing at his arms and legs as if he were a child. Oftentimes, he’d end up snatching the clothes from them and doing most of the work himself. But even the servants would actually argue with him over being denied their task. He’d thought maybe it was because it was an excuse they could use to touch him, but he figured fighting it was pointless anyway.

Everil was accustomed to it, having lived in luxury her entire life. She simply let them dress her and do her hair like a doll. Not once would she complain, on the contrary, she’d often tell him to stop fussing and let them do their jobs.

Once the maids were done with her, Everil stared at her reflection in her dresser's mirror, adjusting her diamond teardrop earrings. They had combed her hair up into an elaborate bun, a delicate crown set over her head. Her umber velvet dress dragged on the floor, its golden embroidery shimmering at the hems as tan furs warmed her shoulders. It had been a while since she had to attend court, having been resting in private with their babe most of the time.

“You look beautiful…” Alistair murmured as he approached her from behind, dressed in fine, brown leathers trimmed in tan furs, his crown glistening under the sunlight. 

She let out a light laugh. “I'm glad you still think so. I haven’t really been up to dressing up as much after Eleanor.”

“I have seen you covered in dirt, sweat, and darkspawn blood from head to toe.” He wrapped his arms around her waist, staring at her through the mirror. “And you were beautiful then too.”

Another chuckle escaped her, pink tinting her cheeks. “Flatterer…”

The two of them stared at each for some time, listening to nothing but the silence around them. The maids had left the room with the food trays. And the nanny had taken Eleanor to the gardens for fresh air, with Bjorn following them on his constant mission to protect their child. For the first time in a while, it was just them. Alone for a fleeting moment.

Alistair took in a soft breath, her flowery scent gradually drawing him in as he rested his chin atop her shoulder. “You know…” he whispered to her, his hands flat on her stomach as he pulled her against him. “Sometimes... I find myself wishing that instead of being here, we could have had simpler lives. Maybe lived in a little hut somewhere… away from everyone and everything.”

“I know…” she murmured, placing her hands over his. “So do I… I didn’t think I would end up returning to this life. But what is important is that we are together… no matter where we are.” 

“Very true…” He tenderly kissed her pulse, his breath over her neck sending goosebumps throughout her body. Feeling her shiver urged him to continue, his lips traveling along her flesh, tasting her, caressing her. And he let out a sigh, her warmth and closeness straining his grip on his urges.

Everil bit her lip, her own heart knocking against her ribcage. It had been too long since he’d last touched her. Too long since they’d sought to take refuge in each other’s arms. Because she had felt broken. Incomplete. As if a piece of her being had gone dormant after giving birth. 

But now, as he breathed in her essence and his hands moved to grasp her hips, that part of her seemed to stir. 

“Alistair…” she called weakly. 

He kept kissing her, slowly. Deliberately. “Yes…?”

“I…” She bit her lower lip and blissfully closed her eyes, leaning her head back against his shoulder and granting him better access to her slender neck. “I think I’m ready…”

Her words cracked the shackles he’d wrapped around his lust, fogging his judgment as he growled deep within his throat, “Hrmm… We have duties to attend to…”

His husky voice drew a soft, needy moan out of her, her sex throbbing for him. She couldn’t wait. It had to be now or she would go mad. “We can spare a few minutes…” she whimpered, quivering as his stubble grazed her skin.

“But the envoy—”

Everil whirled around and claimed his lips in a hot, passionate kiss. Moaning against her mouth, he pinned her to the dresser, his self-control shattering into a million pieces. He broke away, leaning his forehead against hers as he tried to grab at any restraint he had left.

“Oh, damn it all…” He kissed her again, took her by the waist, and lifted her onto the dresser, knocking over bottles and a vase as she opened her legs for him. He devoured her lips as he desperately grabbed her heavy skirts, shoving them up and slithering his arms under her thighs to reach for her undergarment. He pulled on the knots that kept it in place at her hips, practically tearing it off her before scrambling to undo his trousers. 

And she squealed when he speared into her, burying himself deep inside her moist loins as he groaned into their kiss. He didn’t even waste time in patiently savoring her, instead, thrusting into her with all the pent up need he’d held inside for close to three months. 

Everil’s moans joined the banging of the dresser against the wall as she broke from their kiss, panting for air. “Oh, Alistair...! Oh, don't stop…!” she gasped, their noses almost touching as she stared into his lustful ambers. Her legs bounced on his muscular arms each time their hips met, his member ramming the tightening coil inside her each time. 

“Ah…!” He dug his fingers into her hips, grunting deeply as her wet cave gripped him at just the right pressure. The look of sheer pleasure over her features intensified the sensations where they joined, as each thrust chipped away at an already crumbling dam. He gasped. “I’m… I’m already—!”

And he couldn’t stop it. Couldn’t hold on to it. The dam burst open and he came with a loud groan, filling her womb with his seed as he pulsed and throbbed inside her. But he kept going, biting down as he sought to make her fall apart too. He didn’t have to wait long.

“Oh, Maker!” she cried out, her insides constricting as she too reached her end. She gripped the fur on his shoulders, her entire body shaking and convulsing as the waves rushed over her like a raging tide. Whimpers escaped her as she kissed his lips, his movements slowing while the wet noises filled their ears.

Alistair shuddered and blew out a breath, tenderly returning her kisses as they waited for the heat to pass. “Maker’s breath…” he huffed, kissing the corner of her lips. “That definitely eased the tension… so to speak...”

She tenderly nuzzled his cheek. “So… I take it you’re ready… to go meet these people…?”

“My love…” He kissed her again. “After this… I’m ready for anything…”

Everil chuckled, pleased to have finally tended to his needs while relieved to have found her missing piece.

⚜⚜⚜⚜

The chatter of conversing men and women filled the throne room as some men and women gathered within. Only a handful from around Ferelden attended, most representatives sent from their respective homesteads on behalf of their lords, who were busy dealing with their blighted lands. Knights lined the hall's walls, their helmets covering their features as they remained still as statues. That day an Orlesian official would walk through the gates again after thirty years since the war. And while it was a day many saw coming, everyone had mixed feelings about what it meant to negotiate with a country that caused so much death and suffering on Fereldan soil.

“Lords and ladies,” called Eamon in a booming voice from his position by the king's throne. 

The chamber grew silent, and all eyes went to him.

“The king and queen of Ferelden,” he announced, bowing as their monarchs emerged from the side of the throne. 

All in the room but the knights standing guard bowed to them as they entered. Alistair raised a hand in a formal greeting as they rose, then took a seat on the golden throne. Coming to stand at his right, Everil regarded their subjects with a slight smile as the two of them skillfully hid what happened just a minute ago. Though, she found it would be much easier if her heartbeat would just settle down.

Alistair let out a huff, still a little out of breath as his voice carried throughout the room. “Everyone… I understand that because of the situation in the south and much of the Bannorn, some of you have come to me to express your concerns. Know that I will address them in due time and that I have kept your problems in my thoughts as we work together to rebuild after the Blight. Now, however, we have a guest within our borders and we must listen to what they have to say if we are to one day build a relationship based on peace and mutual understanding.”

He looked to Eamon, then gave a nod. The former arl raised a hand to the gates and the guards opened them as directed, granting entrance to the envoy. “Lords and ladies," announced Eamon. "Lord Alexandre Laurent, Marquis of Val Firmin and Ambassador to Celene Valmont the first, Empress of Orlais!”

The moment the Orlesians entered, the contrast between the two cultures became clear. A pale man clad in shades of blue and pink led the envoy, a mask covering the top half of his face. His silk vest and leather trousers were fine, trimmed in flowing lace, his cloak a rich navy as it flowed behind his back at each step. His blond hair was long, past his shoulders, and to the middle of his back, braided and with a blue ribbon at the end. He walked with his head held high and a jeweled cane in one hand. Two advisors wearing similar garments followed him, along with and a retinue of chevaliers. Their march resounded in the throne room, their helmets like masks, cast in silver, and matching their fine leather and steel armor. 

Those in the room, with their layers of fur, leather, and wool coats seemed dull in comparison to the colorful garments the Orlesians wore. But it wasn't just about the shades. Colorful dyes were expensive, a statement of Orlesian wealth and power all on their own. Which meant the man walking regally before them was possibly wealthier than some of them combined.

Alexandre stopped a few steps from the foot of the throne, then he and his advisors bowed to the king while his men remained erect behind him. “Greetings, your Majesty,” he said, his accent thick as he spoke in a sultry voice. “On behalf of my empress and her people, I thank you for welcoming us and bring to you a gift from her to you.”

He gestured to two soldiers with an open hand, and they walked forth, carrying a golden box with Orlais' emblem engraved over it. Alistair eyed it for a moment. Not accepting it would be an insult to the empress and accepting it may give those in the room the wrong impression. He had little choice. "Thank you. I will send her Majesty my gratitude," he replied, his expression neutral as he gestured to the knights at the foot of the stairs. They approached the box, lifting it and taking it away with them. 

The Marquis bowed once more. “I look forward to a fruitful conversation with you, sire.”

“The feeling is mutual, Marquis Laurent,” Alistair replied evenly, gazing upon him from his seat. “That the empress accepted my invitation is appreciated. I understand that the initial talks of a closer alliance between Ferelden and Orlais began with my brother, and while I am not Cailan and I…” He cleared his throat. “I uh… certainly do not intend to approach the matter in the same way he did in life, I share some of his views regarding the need for our nations to work together. I hope we can have an understanding, as the… erm... relations between us have not been the friendliest, even after the peace treaty my father signed years ago.”

“Yes. An unfortunate situation, sire. One we wish to overcome.” The Marquis dipped his head. “Perhaps we can begin by speaking about how Orlais can benefit from such an alliance?” 

“I would rather we start by speaking about what Ferelden seeks to gain.” Alistair put on a friendly smile. “After all, we extended the invitation.”

There was a slight tilt to a corner of the envoy's lips. “Fair enough…”

The nobles and representatives present watched and listened intently, paying close attention to the conversation. 

“All right… First and foremost… I want to revise our existing trade agreement to allow for a broader exchange of goods. With Ferelden's lands in disarray because of the Blight, we need to import resources we can't make or farm on our own at the moment. I also want our merchants to be able to negotiate costs, and in exchange, we can trade with you metals and other things at a lower price. Second, I want collaboration between our countries in protecting our borders. The Blight served as an excellent example of our need for better joint defenses. While I do not wish for a foreign army to cross my borders, I want us to share information freely and perhaps even build a joint, neutral militia for future conflicts threatening both our nations. The Grey Wardens can serve that purpose against the darkspawn.”

“If I may…” he interjected. “While I am sure that my empress will consider those terms… Would it not be easier to grant us leave to march when you require our aid? I believe that was the agreement between King Cailan and her Majesty. We would surely accommodate the same treatment as a gesture of good faith.”

There were a few whispers amongst those in the room, some questioning his claims while others openly disapproved of the late king's decision. Meanwhile, Alistair kept the smile on his face, ignoring their muttering. “Like I said… I agree with some of my brother's ideas, but not all. The last time Orlesian soldiers marched into our lands they didn't leave willingly.”

Alexandre stiffened, but nodded, his tone carrying a hint of disapproval. “I understand… Perhaps with time, the issue of trust will resolve itself.”

“That's the idea… provided that trust is earned.” Alistair leaned back, crossing his legs. “There are other matters I think we need to address… but we can do so in private. For now, you can speak your terms.”

“Very well…” The Marquis grasped his cane with both hands, lifting his chin. “The empress sees benefit in allying with Ferelden, however, there are a few concessions she requires…”

“She requires, does she?” a male noble muttered nearby.

The envoy ignored him. “There is property within Ferelden that is… by title, rightfully belonging to some of the Orlesian lords that once ruled over them. She believes that allowing the rightful owners to return to their homesteads would help develop… a better understanding between both sides.”

Alistair paused for a moment. “I—”

“For what purpose!” one man yelled, unleashing a storm of whispers and mutters.

“‘Rightfully belonging’? Of what lands do you speak of, Orlesian!” an older fellow yelled over the chatter. 

The Marquis closed his mouth, standing tall despite the voices that steadily grew into many. Some observed the commotion, whispering to each other while sending dirty looks his way. It only took a few words to ignite the flame, and it wouldn’t have enveloped all in the chamber had it not been for those said by one of the two men accompanying the envoy. 

He’d shifted, looking about with his mask hiding his scorn. “ _Putain de sauvages..._ ” 

“What did he say!” another lord shouted over the crowd. 

More shouting ensued as the tensions grew tenfold. 

Alistair looked about the chamber. “All right, all of you…”

But the nobles kept on arguing, overpowering his voice. He gazed around, unsure of what to do to regain control of the court.

“Lords and ladies, please calm yourselves!” came Eamon’s request, which went unheard over the noise.

“Everyone, please,” Everil spoke then, raising a hand to them to appease them. 

“How dare these bastards try to tell us what to do with our lands!” a bann protested from somewhere in the back. “Ferelden belongs to us! They have no—!”

“Enough!” Alistair’s voice boomed over theirs as he shot up from his throne.

All in the room went silent and their surprised stares went to the king, including that of the queen. 

“I get it! Our wounds are still fresh and some of you lived through that terrible time in which we were enslaved by a tyrant! But we won’t be able to move forward to a more peaceful future if we keep holding on to old grudges!” he shouted, glaring at his vassals as his frustrations surged. “Now, settle down and let me do the talking, else I will clear the chamber!”

An uncomfortable silence hung over them, then the king sighed and lowered himself upon the throne.

Bowing his head, Alexandre calmly spoke, “Thank you, sire…”

Alistair lifted his nose at him, his pleasant mood completely gone, and replaced by quiet anger. He narrowed his eyes, an edge in his voice. “Marquis Laurent, you come before me claiming that some of my lands belong to the Empire, which is an affront all on its own. Then, as if that weren't wonderful enough, one of your men insults my people, right here, in my palace, and in my presence… And before you deny it, I'll have you know that although you may think me ignorant and inferior to you, I happen to have learned quite a bit of Orlesian over the past few months so I understood what he said just as clearly as I am speaking to you right now.”

Color raised to the man's face as he glanced at his advisor, who fidgeted uncomfortably under his stare. He faced the king. “Your Majesty, I—”

“Sorry, but one of those fancy apologies won't cut it,” Alistair sharply interrupted. “I'm willing to continue our talks… but if it happens again, I'll have you and your men thrown out of my kingdom and Empress Celene will hear about what happened directly from me. Is that clear?”

He visibly swallowed. “Yes, sire.”

“Good.” The king released another sigh. “Now, let's move on…”

The rest of the conversation carried on without incident as the nobles listened. And as they spoke of commerce and politics, Everil gazed at her husband in quiet admiration. It was impressive just how much he'd grown from that insecure man she met almost two years ago and how quickly he'd settled onto the throne and the responsibilities it carried. And although he still had much to learn about the intricacies of governing, she was sure Ferelden had the king it needed during such trying times.

⚜⚜⚜⚜

It was near noon by the time Alistair dismissed the court and those who attended trickled out of the chamber. Still seated in his throne, he let out a breath and pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling a headache creeping in. He’d just spent hours listening to his people’s concerns and talking with a foreign dignitary, but doing the latter was the most exhausting. Negotiating with the Orlesians was akin to walking on eggshells, but he would have to hold more meetings with them to solidify their relations. As for that day’s session, they had to wait for the empress to respond to his proposals to see any change.

“Excellent work, Alistair,” said Eamon, walking up to him and patting him on the shoulder. “It seems you were listening to my lessons after all.”

Alistair chortled wryly. “Thank you… I do my best.”

“Hopefully things will move in the right direction.” Everil crossed her arms, tired herself. “It appears they are… Though I’m a little concerned about the Empire witnessing our weakened state.”

Eamon nodded, clasping his hands behind his back. “We will have to continue building alliances with other nations and bolstering our military while we push for diplomacy. That we welcome peace doesn’t mean we shouldn't be prepared for a potential war.”

“Right…” Alistair agreed, the prospect of that happening while they struggled to recover troubling him. He had to keep working on strengthening their country, especially now.

“Your Majesty...” they heard someone call, drawing their attention towards a man approaching the throne. He was a redheaded, older fellow, with streaks of gray that marked his age. His garbs were made of tan leather, while a black cloak hung from his shoulders.

“Bann Cederic.” Alistair lifted a brow at him. “Is there something more you wish to discuss with me?”

The man bowed to him, then gave him a concerned look. “I… I have dire news, sire. And… I needed to tell you and her Majesty in private to avoid danger to my person.”

Everil and Alistair exchanged a brief glance. 

“What is it, ser?” she asked worriedly. “Danger from whom?”

After peering behind him to ensure everyone had left, he gulped and spoke quietly. “Just three weeks ago... Bann Loren came to the Kinloch bannorn to speak with me about trading for my grain. He came with two others, Bann Gerald and Bann Harrick. They… they said atrocities about you, my king and queen. Of the… treasonous kind.”

Alistair blinked, his eyebrows going up in surprise. “Did they now?” He scowled as irritation settled in, more about the words said of his wife than of himself. “What did they say?”

“Erm… They said you were a weakling and a puppet of the Orlesians. And that the queen was possibly working with them to control you. The same was said of Arl Eamon.”

“What?” Eamon glared at him in umbrage. “Why would they think such foolishness?”

A single, humorless chuckle escaped Alistair. “Great… There’s more Loghains out there...”

“Why are they spreading such lies?” Everil asked, anger also on her features. “Do they truly believe I would betray the country I fought so hard to save?”

“That is… unfortunately not the worst of it, my queen.” The old man wrung his hands nervously, casting his eyes to the floor. “Bann Loren has been going to other bannorns too… fighting them over food and threatening them into staying quiet or supporting their views.” He licked his lips, then gave Alistair a wary look. “I think some seek to organize a revolt against you, sire. And I think Loren is leading them.”

“Maker…” Eamon gazed down at the king in alarm. “Those are terrible news indeed, Alistair. They must be stopped, else you will have another civil war in your hands.”

Clenching his jaw, Alistair said nothing, ire rising in him like boiling water. How dare they doubt their fealty to their nation after all he and Everil sacrificed for them? How dare they speak of her in such a way when she’d almost given up her life to save them from the Blight? How dare they threaten him, his wife, and his rule when they were working so hard to restore their lives? They would answer to him for it all. And he would show them just how weak a king he was.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	5. Bittersweet Goodbye

⚜

_Bookshelves lined the walls in the king's study, while rich,_ cherry wood furniture, dog carvings, and fur rugs decorated the room. A fire crackled and popped, burning under the portrait of a fair man in golden armor, with long hair the color of barley and kind, sky-blue eyes. A crown sat upon his brow, the same one Alistair wore as he paced before the flames and beneath his father's painting. He clasped his hands behind his back, irritation etched upon his face. 

Night had fallen and even after meeting with the Orlesian envoy in private, he was still trying to quell his poor mood at the news he received after court. Something terrible was brewing in the Bannorn, where many of his vassals presided over most of his lands and where a good portion of Ferelden's armies and other resources concentrated. It was an area of the country already prone to conflict amongst the lords for various reasons, but this was beyond a mere squabble.

If he didn't stop the unrest soon, their already weakened country would face yet more political turmoil. “I don't understand… We ended the Blight after Everil and I unified everyone,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “This shouldn't be happening.”

Eamon followed him with his eyes, seated on a nearby chair. “Many have been left with their properties blighted and unable to feed their people. That makes some desperate and angry, a situation others can easily take advantage of.”

“But who is this Bann Loren?” Alistair paused in his pacing, sending an annoyed look at him. “Wasn't he the one who spoke out against me in the Landsmeet?”

“Yes… He is quite the disliked man. He has the reputation to be unreliable when it comes to his loyalties.”

“Clearly…” Alistair shook his head, resuming his pacing. “What in the Maker's name does he hope to gain out of this? To overthrow me and take my place? He has no bloody claim to the throne.”

With a sigh, Eamon furrowed his brow and laced his fingers over his la.. “I don't know… Men like him have minds like a maze. Their only desires are power and coin, but you can never tell what paths they will take to get to them. All I can tell you is that he and his followers have become a problem and they need to be dealt with or you will lose control of the Bannorn.”

“All right, I'll take my army and march to their lands.” Alistair stopped and faced him. “If they think they can threaten me and my family without consequence, then they're sorely mistaken.”

Eamon raised a hand, trying to calm him. “Wait, Alistair… You mustn't act rashly. We have to think with cool heads and handle this deftly. You don't know how many have turned on you yet, or if those who have are being threatened into doing so. You may weed out the ones Bann Cederic mentioned, but there may yet be more who hold Bann Loren's views still lurking in the shadows.”

“Then what do you propose I do?” he questioned with an arched eyebrow. “Invite them over for a cup of tea and ask them nicely?”

Another sigh escaped the former arl. “I propose you visit your allies first… those who spoke in your favor at the Landsmeet. See them personally, then find out who else in the Bannorn seeks to revolt against you. Some of them were spared by the Blight, so desperation won’t cloud their minds. Once you have a clearer picture of whose loyalties you possess, bring their voices with you and unify them against the true traitors. Executing them may end up being necessary, but this way you can make an example out of them and show all who doubted you what happens when they betray the crown. That is the path your ancestor, King Calenhad, took when he unified our country under his rule.”

Alistair put a hand to his hip and turned his gaze away, the light of the fire reflecting over his troubled stare. “That sounds like it will take a while… I would be gone from my wife and child for months…” He regarded him with a glare, frustrated by it all. “Why not just chop off the snake's head by stopping Loren? Wouldn't that be the best way to show these bastards I'm not some... 'weakling' they can trample over?”

“That will not guarantee someone else won't take his place. And while you understandably speak from a place of anger, you must demonstrate strength through leadership, not only through force.” Eamon offered him a sympathetic stare. “I understand you have a family now and that it is difficult to leave them behind. But it is your duty as king to keep order at any cost.”

He sighed and spun to the fireplace, resting both hands on the mantle and staring at the glistening coals. 

“You would also be doing this for them, of course.” Eamon crossed his arms and stroked his beard with one hand. “If these men succeed in whatever it is they want to accomplish, Queen Everil and the young princess will be in danger too. After all, the only way they can rid themselves of your rule without the Landsmeet in their favor is by doing away with the entire royal family. I'm not saying it has already escalated to that, but you must keep that in mind.”

A brief silence followed as he took in those words. He was right. This wasn’t just about preserving his rule, for if these men were paranoid enough about their perceived Orlesian influence, they would act as Loghain did when he betrayed his brother, but could possibly go a step further. Yet leaving to deal with them meant he would miss out on time with his child. He wouldn't get to see her grow during those months away and would likely even miss her first birthday. He gave his head a shake, gritting his teeth in exasperation. “Damn it…!” Pushing himself off the fireplace, he turned to him with a scowl. “All right, I leave at sunrise with my knights and a portion of my army. Can you take care of the travel arrangements?”

“Yes, sire…”

“I’ll send notice to Highever, Dragon's Peak, and Waking Sea.” He strode to his desk, reaching for his quill and paper. “I'll start with them… Maybe get my brother-in-law to join me in this. The sooner I get this handled, the better.”

“Agreed.” Eamon rose from his chair, stepping over to him to place a hand on his shoulder. “I will remain here as your regent and ensure your family is safe in your absence.”

“Thank you, Uncle…” The king patted his wrinkled hand with a wry, half-smile. 

Eamon dipped his head, returning the smile. “Just make sure you watch your back at all times, Alistair. Even with your escort, you will be vulnerable. Do not trust easily when you meet with the nobles. Do not eat nor drink anything they serve you and stay alert. Write often to ensure we stay in touch and up to date on the situation.”

“Yeah… I will.”

⚜⚜⚜⚜

  
  


A bundled Eleanor cooed in her mother's arms before she brought a clay bottle to her mouth. The baby made a pleased noise as she drank the goat's milk and honey, the sweetness making her azure pools sparkle. A slight smile played on Everil's lips as she admired her, though she still felt a little sad at not being able to breastfeed her. The taint had robbed her of the ability to make milk for their baby, so they had to find alternatives. 

After changing into a soft pink nightgown and a red velvet robe, she paced beside her bed chamber’s windows on bare feet. She glanced out towards the gardens as the cool breeze flowed into the room. What was happening out there, with the banns infighting and attempting a rebellion while the darkspawn threat seemed to linger, made her wonder if they would ever find any semblance of normalcy. If she and those she loved would ever live peacefully again. 

_Probably not… Not while Ferelden remains scarred by the Blight…_ She peered melancholically at her child, whispering to her, “I'm sorry, my puppy… I'm sorry I could not bring you into a less violent world where you can grow without care and run through fields of marigolds and daffodils. I'm sorry you are cursed as we are… to live with the taint and its trappings as we do…” Everil tenderly kissed her forehead. “But... while there may be dangers all around, I promise you that your father and I will protect you. And that one day, we will live without this curse in our blood.”

Bjorn observed them as he lay by the fireplace, listening to his mistress hum to the tiny human she held so lovingly. The melody carried throughout the chamber, soothing as silk to his ears. He let out a tired snort as she lulled both he and his ward into slumber.

The sound of a door opening interrupted their quiet, drawing Everil's attention to it. Alistair entered on heavy steps, visibly exhausted from the day's events. He looked at her from across the room, then rubbed the back of his neck and went to their wardrobe and to the decorative pedestal upon which they placed their royal jewels.

With pinched eyebrows, she watched him reverently remove his golden crown and place it atop its perch as if it held the weight of the entire country. And it did. It represented the burdens he had to carry over his shoulders now that he was Ferelden's ruler. It symbolized the lives of the people who relied on him for guidance and protection, and the consequences his decisions would bring over generations. 

“Darling…?” she called, concerned over his silence as she took a few steps towards him. “Are you all right?”

“I have to leave tomorrow morning…” he whispered, releasing a deep sigh before facing her. He went to her and his hands came to rest on her shoulders as he leaned over to kiss her forehead. “I'll be gone for… I don't know how long. Several months maybe.”

“What…?” Her frown deepened as she gazed up at him. “Where are you going? Is this because of what's happening in the Bannorn?”

“Yes.” Alistair caressed her cheek, the conversation causing his chest to constrict. “I have to bring back order before things get out of hand.”

“Is there no other way?” she quietly inquired, already disliking the plan. “Why not just call a Landsmeet? Bring all the nobles here and settle matters in court.”

“I can't do that…” Shaking his head, he trudged to a grand, ornate chair by their fire as he worked on undoing the buckles of his thick, leather coat. “There's too much distress among the common folk for me to make the lords leave their homesteads unattended. And I'm pretty sure the malcontents would just ignore my summons, anyway.”

“Then I’ll come with you.” Her worried gaze trailed him, staring at his broad back as he undressed. 

Alistair shot her a stern look. “No way.”

“But—”

“No buts, Everil. I don't want them or their lackeys anywhere near you or Eleanor.” He carelessly tossed the heavy garment onto the back of the chair. “Besides, with your visions of that darkspawn… thing, I worry something else is going on. The Grey Wardens will need you here if that’s the case.”

“Very well…” she sighed, her sight falling to the floor. “I just think it’s too dangerous for you to confront them directly. What if they make an attempt on your life?” 

“Then that’s a risk I’ll have to take...” Now clad in his white undershirt and leather trousers and boots, he plopped onto the velvet seat. Bjorn came to nuzzle his hand and Alistair absently scratched behind his ear, releasing a humorless laugh. “To think I have only been king for a year and some already hate my guts… Story of my life, I guess.”

Everil observed his slouched shoulders and saw him let out yet another tired breath. He’d been practically holding the nation together by a string after the Blight left their lands in ruins. And while he had her help and Eamon’s expertise, fixing such a broken mess was still a monumental undertaking. Yet now, even after so many interminable days and nights of learning how to govern and working tirelessly for his people, there were still those who dared claim him unworthy of the throne. 

_Bastards…_ Everil seethed inwardly, angered by their paranoia and treasonous assumptions. She strode to the bassinet at the other side of the fire and gently laid the sleeping babe into it before placing the empty bottle at its foot. Calmly sauntering to him, she lowered herself onto his lap and wrapped her arms about his neck. 

He gazed up at her, resting a calloused hand on her hip.

“You’re too harsh on yourself, husband…” she began while running her fingers through his hair. “Those who are acting against you are fools blinded by ignorance and fear. It has nothing to do with the way you have ruled the country. I say you have done an excellent job, especially after the Blight left us on the brink of ruin.” Her lips met his in a tender kiss. “I'm proud of you, Alistair… So very proud.”

Nuzzling the tip of her nose, Alistair chuckled deeply and kissed her again. “Thank you… You have no idea how much it means to me to hear you say that.”

“And I meant it...” Her fingers kept stroking the back of his head, trying to soothe him while she anxiously furrowed her brow. “So… are you going to Bann Loren’s lands?” 

“No… Not right away. I need to speak with the northern lords and have them reaffirm their loyalty to me… find out who else has been swayed into believing his lies.” His ambers darkened as they shifted to the fire. “Then, I can deal with him and his damn followers...”

Everil leaned closer, resting her temple against his as she too looked at the dancing flames. “You should go to my brother. Perhaps even take him with you into these talks. Highever’s teyrn would be a powerful ally and he already controls most of the north.”

“That’s part of the plan. I'm traveling to Dragon's Peak first, however. I want to see what Bann Sighard can tell me about those closest to Denerim.” 

“All right…”

With a wide yawn, Bjorn padded to lie by the baby’s bassinet again and curled into a ball, intent on guarding the tiny treasure sleeping therein. And a brief silence settled over them as they sat before the burning fireplace, the seconds ticking them by. That this would be the last time in a long while that she would get to be this close to him made her chest ache. She leaned against him and took in his scent, the aroma of leather, grass, and pinewood grazing her nose. A perfume she wouldn’t get to bask in again for who knew how many months. 

The risk of losing him for good drifted into her head no matter how hard she tried to keep it away. He would be out in the wilderness, without her to watch his back as she’d done so many times before, while seeking to end a rebellion that could very well kill him if not stopped in time. And she briefly closed her eyes, trying to remain optimistic in an otherwise terrifying situation. 

“I…” She gripped his shirt. “I wish you didn’t have to go…”

“So do I…” A sad smile came to him as he turned his head to sprinkle light kisses on her cheek. “Maker, I hate having to leave your side…”

“Just…” Everil pulled back just enough to gaze into his honey-colored pools, cupping his cheek and lightly tracing the scar over his cheekbone with her thumb. “Just please... swear to me that you will come back to me in one piece.”

His lips brushed against hers as he caressed the side of her face with the back of his fingers. “Hey, don't worry… Nothing in this world will ever keep me from coming back to my old ball and chain.”

“Alistair…” She gave him a slightly irritated glare. “I told you not to call me that.”

He chuckled and kissed her softly. “I'll return to you, my queen... I swear it.”

Everil smiled at his promise and pressed her lips to his, bringing both legs onto the chair’s armrest as she sought to be even closer to him. He held her tighter to him as his tongue parted her mouth and invaded her, exploring her, savoring her while he exhaled through the nose. She moaned softly into their kiss, the agonizing dance of their tongues igniting the flame deep within her. The blaze spread as his hand snuck under her gown and crawled up her leg, leaving goosebumps in its wake.

And his yearning was there again, as demanding as it was when he took her against their dresser that morning. Maker, she was intoxicating. A drug he just couldn’t get enough of, and yet wouldn’t get to have for months longer after this night. He would have to wait again, this time several, frustrating miles away from her. Unable to at least see her, hold her, or hear her.

He already couldn’t take it. 

He broke their kiss and his arm slid under her legs before he rose from the chair with her. Her heavy breaths grazed his jaw as he carried her to their bed, striding past the still slumbering hound and babe. Alistair carefully set her upon the mattress, hastily tore off his boots, then climbed atop her, capturing her mouth with his once more. And she mewled, spreading her legs and allowing him to adjust himself between them. Needy moans escaped her as he ground his hips against hers, his hard bulge teasingly rubbing her sex as the friction instantly sent electricity shooting through her.

His hand again trailed up her thigh, then gripped her glute, fingers digging into her flesh. She gasped for air and he strayed, his tongue dragging down her jaw and to her pulse. “Oh, darling…!” she whined, her hips bucking to meet his.

“Shh…” he shushed over her neck. “Don't wake her…”

She bit her lip and whimpered, feeling his hot breath as he ran his tongue up her skin. His teeth gently scraped her, sending shivers down her spine as he growled deep within his throat. And Everil writhed beneath him, grabbing at his shirt as she struggled to breathe in this searing heat. 

Wanting to feel her hands on him, he leaned back and took off the piece of clothing, revealing the chiseled body she so proudly owned. His scars lay exposed, medals earned in past battles, the angry scratches of a dragon’s claws still visible over his side. And by Andraste did she crave for him. Did she long for him. The last bit of passion in the morning did nothing to completely scratch the intense itch that had surged forth after her body reawakened from its numb state. She wanted more of him. All of him here and now.

In a blur, she turned them over, straddling his hips, and devouring his lips. He groaned as she continued to drag her now moist folds over his erection, causing him to throb. His hands tore at her robe, shoving it off her shoulders. She helped discard it, then withdrew from their kiss to sit up. He went for her gown, pulling it halfway off before she completed the job and tossed it off the bed. 

Alistair swallowed thickly at the sight of her toned, battle-worn body, her rosy marks like chips on porcelain skin. And he wasted no time, palming her breasts to knead and massage as she moaned his name. “Hmm… No small clothes I see… just the way I like it,” he murmured lustfully, pinching her nipples between his fingers and drawing a stifled cry out of her.

“That's because it is just for you…” Everil whispered as she went to kiss him, suckling and biting his lower lip while his hands slithered over her curves and to her rounded rear. Now it was her turn to taste him and have her fill. So she kissed her way down his stout jaw, to his strong neck, her tongue stroking his jugular. He shuddered as she ventured further south, her scorching mouth against his flesh as she kissed and lapped her way over his solid pecs, then down his abs, over his navel, and to his abdomen as his erection pulsed in anticipation.

Expert fingers untied his trousers, and she took hold of them, sliding them off while he lifted his hips to help her. She discarded them, her hungry stare set upon his member as it stood at attention just for her. Licking her lips, she leaned over on her knees, her digits wrapping around his girth as he throbbed again under her touch.

“Everil…” he called in a quivering moan, watching her intently through half-lidded ambers. And he stifled a groan when the moist warmth of her cavern enveloped him.

Exhaling through the nose, Everil closed her eyes and pulled her head up, her lips making a smacking sound when she released him. And she took him into her cave again, going all the way and deliberately swallowing him whole as her spit coated him. “Ah, Maker…!” he hissed, a trembling hand coming to rest on her head as she pleasured him, sucking on him at just the right pressure.

Everil opened her eyes and gazed up at him, seeing the lust over his features while bobbing her head up and down. Up and down. Using her hand to stroke his moistened length at the same time as her mouth. Maker, if only he could truly moan and groan for her. If only she could hear the melody of his pleasure. But they had to stay quiet or their lovemaking would be cut short.

Releasing a shuddering breath, he saw her release him from her cave to drag her tongue from base to tip as she stared up at him without shame. Oh, but he would miss that look on her. That unrestrained desire he so shared with her. 

She again took him in, swallowing him until her throat gripped him, making him bite down a cry. And her boldness grew as her other hand sought the firm mounds beneath his member. Fingers kneaded and gently pulled as she moved her head up, then down again, throating him each time while picking up speed. He threw his head back and willed himself not to groan her name, gripping the sheets to keep control as the currents intensified and the pressure within him built.

“Ah… Ah, Everil…” he gasped, feeling himself careening to the precipice as his hold on his climax almost slipped. “W-Wait…!” His hand shot to her wrist, stopping her.

Everil peered up at him and removed him from her mouth, smiling seductively at him. “Yes, my king?”

Gulping at her use of his title, Alistair sat up and shakily pulled her to him. “Come here…” He cupped her flushed face, carefully wiping the wetness from her slightly swollen petals with a thumb as he peered into her shimmering blues. He lightly kissed her as he inhaled, withdrawing further from the cliff he'd almost fallen over as his crazed heartbeat drummed in his ears. “Lie down and open your legs for me…” he murmured, his request stirring her already eager parts.

She complied, crawling up next to him on hands and knees and rolling onto her back with her head on a pillow. She wore her bottom lip and spread her legs at his command, before he knelt between them, far enough to admire her glistening flower. It beckoned him from its nest of delicately groomed curls. Calling for his affections. 

Alistair went to it, leaning on his elbows with both hands under her thighs as she peered down at him with a quivering breath. Her sweet, musky scent grazed his nose, enticing him further. And his stare locked with hers as his tongue slid through her slick folds and over her sensitive bulb, setting off an electrifying current that rocked her to the core. She gasped, and he tasted her again and again, lapping at her petals, then flicking her throbbing bud. Her hips bucked and she squealed with each stroke, doing her damndest not to scream. “Oh, Maker…!” she whined, then felt his tongue at her entrance and heard him purr as he tasted her nectar.

“A… Alistair…” she panted, reaching down to stroke his hair with unsteady fingers. “If… If you don't stop, I…” 

But he didn’t hear her plea, instead, suckling on her tender flesh. He lapped at her again, stroking her clit, wanting nothing more than to bring her to a mind-shattering end. Her thoughts were a blur as she focused on that tongue. On those vibrations as he groaned against her sex. On the noises he made as he devoured her. And before she knew what was happening, she tensed up and came with a high pitched squeal. Her entire body shook as pure ecstasy filled her, overpowering her senses as he continued to drink from her overflowing well.

For a moment all she could see were stars, her chest heaving. Then her vision cleared as he rose onto his knees and moved closer between her legs. Calloused hands took hold of her hips, lifting them and angling them to him. And he gazed at her from above, admiring her dazed features before griping himself and pressing the tip of his sword to her soaked sheath. 

Her folds enveloped him and he moaned with her as he gradually entered her, this time enjoying every bit of her as he stretched her until he could go no further. 

“Oh, Maker…” she gasped and trembled, grabbing onto her pillow.

Eyes locked with hers, he moved, wet noises reaching their ears while he deliberately withdrew until he was almost out. He thrust in, deep and hard, earning a strained squeal out of her. And he did it again, and again. Taking his time, while reigniting her furnace with each solid pump. 

Panting heavily, Everil whined as their groins smacked together, renewed bolts of pleasure piercing through her being when he’d hit that coil inside her. And he kept going. In and out. In and out. Somehow patient and rough all at once as he admired the bouncing of her breasts and her struggle to keep quiet under his delicious punishment. 

“Oh, darling…” she wheezed, droplets of moisture upon her brow. “Oh, more… Give me more…”

And he obeyed, quickening his pumps as he moaned for her. The change nearly broke her hold on her voice as Everil gasped, his thrusts bringing forth more pleasure and shattering her reality. “Please keep going…!” she pleaded through the haze. “Harder, love…! Harder…!”

With a grunt, he leaned over, sliding a hand under one of her legs to angle her further and grabbing the bed's headboard with the other. And he plunged into her with abandon, their groins clashing loudly as she bit down her cries. And just like that, all she could feel was him as he wreaked havoc inside her, his sword piercing that sensitive place deep within her in a mind-numbing loop that robbed her of the ability to tell up from down. 

“I promise you, my dear…” he huffed, his lustful ambers upon her as he hovered over her. “That I'll remember that expression on your face… The way you feel… Your sweet scent... Each night away from you… and when I return, we'll do this all over again… All day… and all night… until all that's left… is you and me in a tangled mess...”

“Alistair…” she whimpered as tears threatened to spill out of her, her racing heart weeping for him. How she hated not being able to go with him. How she would miss his touch, his voice, and his kisses. How she would long to feel him buried deep inside her loins. 

The friction was maddening, the pressure suffocating. And each unrelenting plunge into her hot, wet depths was again pushing him closer and closer to the tumultuous waters just over that roaring waterfall. Sweat trickled down his brow as his rhythm quickened and he gave her all he could muster, clutching the headboard for leverage while seeking to drag her over the edge with him. “Come with me…” he urged through the heaving, his fingers digging into the flesh of her thigh. “Let me… feel you come…”

Squealing for him, she clutched her pillow with white knuckles, the pounding of her pulse matching the hammering of his manhood on her resonating core. The coil inside her tightened further and further, curling into itself and threatening to burst. And two, three, four more violent pumps struck it and it snapped in all directions. She drew in a deep, gasping breath as everything crumbled, and her walls constricted around him. And with a long, low groan, he plummeted into the thrashing ocean with her, spilling every drop of his offering into her. 

“Maker… Oh, Maker…” she repeated in strained whispers as they rode the waves together, her toes curling as she shook.

Gradually, his movements ground to a halt and all they could hear was their heavy huffs. Alistair carefully lowered her hips to the mattress but remained buried inside her as he moved to lay atop her. “I love you…” he murmured, breathlessly sprinkling kisses on her flushed cheek. 

“I love you too…” Everil swallowed and pressed her lips to his, tenderly stroking his hair. He kissed her ever so gently in return while her unsteady arms came to wrap loosely around him. He lay with her for a long while as their hearts calmed, their bodies connected as he relished those soft lips he would so yearn for in her absence.


	6. Nightmares Gone Too Far

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys. I appreciate those who have commented and given me kudos on this one. I know it can be rather corny and it has been slow to start. The action will pretty much begin from the next chapters on and I will be going back and forth between Alistair and Everil's POV. There will be more smutty scenes in the future too lol... I can't tell you when and how, you'll just have to wait and see. I might also add letters they write to each other in between chapters, just to keep them interacting with each other from afar but I'm not entirely sold on that yet. Feel free to drop me a review or comment if you have any suggestions or if you like what you're reading. Any feedback helps motivate me to keep going, especially during these crappy times we're living in. Thank you all for the reads and enjoy! - Nardhwen

⚜

A frustrated Everil closed the book she’d been reading with a slam. She shook her head, glaring down at the leather-bound cover that depicted a crying griffon. This was the tenth book from those she and Alistair recovered from the old Grey Warden headquarters in Denerim. They meant to send them to Vigil’s Keep but kept them out of curiosity for what they may hold inside.

What she sought within them was not there, however. Not a single mention of a potential cure to the taint. She let out a huff and gazed at the rest of the documents in her husband’s study, where she and her babe sat for hours with their faithful hound on the floor beside them. There were a few remaining she could sift through, but she figured they had more of the same. Stories of old battles. Strategies used against the darkspawn during Blights past. Secret recipes for ale, liquor, armor, and weapon-making—none interested her right now. 

"If there's a cure it won't be written in these texts…" she muttered, glancing at the baby seated on her purple, velvet skirts. "And I doubt asking our First Warden at Weisshaupt Fortress in the Anderfels will be of any help. In fact, I'm almost certain that even if he knew of a way to get rid of the taint, he wouldn't share that information. The order needs us to stay this way. Otherwise, there wouldn't be enough of us to fight the darkspawn."

Eleanor cooed and mumbled at her mother’s venting, moving her arms and kicking her legs. She was six months old now, golden waves framing her pudgy face, held by a white, laced ribbon that circled her head. Tiny hands reached for the desk, fingers wiggling as she set curious blues on the old text.

“Do you like the drawing, darling?” Everil asked with a chuckle, picking up the book and letting her touch it. “It’s a griffon. Pretty isn’t it? The Grey Wardens used to ride them to battle. They say it was a sight to behold, inspiring enough to move the mightiest of men to tears. That was before the griffons went extinct. Which is quite a shame… Mama would have liked to ride on one of those back when she was out saving the world.”

The baby babbled in response, running a hand along the carving.

A knock on the door made Everil look up to it to see Eamon crack it open. He smiled at them, stepping into the room. “Ah, I thought I heard talking on my way to the throne room. Working on something, your Majesty?”

“We have been doing quite a bit of reading. Though not about fairytales… mostly.” She moved the tome aside and returned his smile.

“Still studying the Grey Warden archives, I see.” He approached them, halting before the wide, cherrywood desk.

“Yes…” She blew up her bangs. “I could not find what I was searching for, however.” 

“Perhaps you should try asking the other Wardens?”

“Perhaps...” Everil slightly bounced her leg, making the baby move with it as she let out a stream of giggles. _I can’t ask Elias directly… He most certainly will not know. But if they brought any documents that may give me a clue..._

A fatherly grin spread over the old man’s bearded face, and he leaned over the desk, reaching for the baby. He gently tickled the bottom of her chin, his smile broadening when the child gave him a toothless grin. “She’s lovely… Reminds me much of Alistair when he came into my castle, all bundled up and with a smile on his face. Both he and Cailan bore a striking resemblance to their father, as well. The Theirin blood is quite potent, isn't it?”

“It appears so… They are certainly easy to spot in a crowd.” Everil chuckled, glancing at the babe before addressing the former arl. “What of your family, Eamon? How's your wife?”

“Isolde is handling things well here in Denerim. She spends most of her time in bed, nowadays, however. Her pregnancy is progressing without complications, but the bustle of the city tires her so.”

“Have you told Connor the good news yet?”

He shook his head. “I think we will wait a while longer to tell him… I don’t want him to think we are replacing him now that he is to stay in the Circle of Magi. Perhaps, after a time, I will tell him on one of my visits.”

“It’s understandable… It likely won’t be easy for him to know he will have a brother or a sister outside those walls… Unable to see them whenever he wished.” She sighed sadly. “I hope that one day the mages will have some freedom to visit loved ones.” 

“Although my son is a mage, I would be wary of that day coming to pass… after what happened in Redcliffe, that is.” He clasped his hands behind his back, his brow furrowing. “Teagan tells me many in the village have not overcome the nightmares or the grief that... demon caused. Even he has been experiencing terrible dreams after having witnessed so many being dragged to their deaths during those dreadful nights before you came along.”

“At least as their arl he will be able to offer them comfort…” Everil uttered, recalling that bloody battle against the undead that plagued the fishing town, fueled by a possessed Connor before she and her friends saved their lives. Seeing the madness in that boy’s face had been surreal, and she hadn’t handled the situation well enough then. The scar on her face was a constant reminder, left behind by the same child she eventually helped free from the demon’s grasp.

The flapping of wings and bird-like cooing drew their stares to the window as a white and gray pigeon landed on the windowsill. It had two pieces of paper tied with a string to both legs and it pecked at its wing, rearranging the feathers as Eamon strode to it. “Looks like his Majesty has sent us another message,” he said as he carefully picked up the bird, muttering a thank you to it before bringing it with him to the queen.

Everil’s expression brightened with both relief and anticipation as she watched the old man’s fingers undo the string. 

“He sent two separate letters again…” Eamon released a knowing chuckle.

She grinned at him. “Which one is mine?”

“Well…” He set the pigeon upon a wooden perch atop the desk and removed the first piece of paper. He opened it, reading whom it addressed before handing it to her. “Ah, here is yours.”

She took it and wrapped her arm around the baby to use both hands to open it. Eleanor babbled, also gazing at the strange symbols written over the sheet of paper. With a slight smile, Everil read the words to herself while Eamon busied himself reading his.

_To my loving wife,_

_I hope you and our little one are doing well inside the palace, warm and safe. I, for one, have found these past two months without you almost unbearable. And I can’t wait to be done with this so I may return to you at last. Unfortunately, infighting between the Edgecaern and Whiteclay bannorns has delayed me on my way to Highever…. over a damn apple tree sapling between their borders, no less. Can you believe it? Two grown men exchanging blows over a tiny tree and threatening to go to arms for it. And here I thought watching a drunken Oghren argue with a rock after tripping over it was the most hilarious thing I ever saw._

_I had to sort out the entire mess by getting them to a negotiating table and coaxing them into sharing the sapling as if they were children. Each is to have half the fruit it bears after it grows, and they are to continue helping each other and other bannorns that are worse off. They seem to be fairing well enough despite there being some lingering damage to their lands—which is a relief, regardless of how ridiculously stupid their argument was. Before I left, they assured me they are not in Loren’s pocket and reiterated their loyalty to me without question. So far, so good, I guess._

_It will take me a few weeks’ time to reach your hometown and start my talks with Fergus and the banns under him. He has already informed me via messenger he's gathering everyone in Highever Castle for a meeting when I arrive. I expect things will move quickly there unless there's a need for me to visit any of their homesteads. I can't be sure right now, but we'll see. You know how life just loves throwing surprises at us. She's nice that way._

_Anyway… I have to go. The men and I are getting ready to move now. I love you… and I miss you. I’ll try to write again as soon as possible. For now, just remember that I think about you and Eleanor all the time. Give her a kiss for me and tell her I am eager to see you both again when this is over._

_Forever yours,_

_Alistair_

She lowered her letter, releasing a soft sigh. Two months had flown by and she only received a letter from him every couple of weeks. Maker, she sorely missed him. And he hadn't even been to the north yet. 

“It seems things are going well so far…” Eamon said, tucking away his message. “We shall see what happens after his talks in Highever.”

“At least my brother will be with him…” Everil replied quietly, then Eleanor mumbled, her tiny fingers grazing the paper. “Yes, that's from your papa,” she said with a smile, pressing her lips to her head. “Shall we write him back?”

She cooed, grinning at her mother with her two tiny teeth.

⚜⚜⚜⚜

Shadows shifted over the stone as the sound of a hundred marching feet echoed within the desolate dwarven ruins. The chiming of metal and the clanking of weapons accompanied the growls of their wielders, monsters out for a hunt. Ashen skin shone with sweat and soulless eyes stared through the darkness at creatures that mirrored their grotesque appearance, all standing in the distance, armed and with the same murderous intent as they gripped their weapons tight. 

The hurlock leading the war group of its brethren roared at those before them, its threatening cry filling the cave. It paced the line of darkspawn behind it and they slammed their arms together, like drums preluding a magnificent battle. And they chanted, some pounding their fists to their chests as their crescendo grew.

On the other side, the others did the same, flaunting their might. And their hurlock leader raised its weapon, releasing a great roar that rivaled the noise. Both sides charged, flooding the dark chamber from right and left before clashing with the violence of a raging storm. Blades and axes met in claps of thunder. Armor split and gushed black blood and gore. Severed limbs dropped to the ground, more black liquid pouring over the ancient dwarven roads. 

One by one they cleaved through each other without mercy, their mangled bodies piling atop their innards. But those remaining kept fighting, unyielding as they savagely sought to eliminate their enemy. A screech came, the last dying cry of one of the two hurlock leaders as it fell at the hands of the other. Its blood bathed its killer’s body, and the hurlock stood tall, extending its arms and throwing its head back as it laughed to the cave’s heights.

The scenery morphed and shifted, then more inky darkness stretched out before her, veiling everything in black. Her footsteps echoed in her ears, her heels clicking over the rock in the wide chamber. There it was again. This relentless call that drew on her like a magnet pulls on steel. Everil narrowed her eyes, trying to see past arm’s reach, but unable to make out the shapes. Voices spoke to her, scraping at her skull with their incessant chanting and drowning out her own thoughts. 

A shape eventually emerged from behind the shadows, much taller than her, a golden mask glimmering under a single sliver of light breaking through the ceiling. The distant wailing of a baby seemed to pierce through the voices in her head, desperately crying for her.

Her hands curled to fists, her heart beating fast as dread gripped her. _Eleanor…?_

The darkspawn’s silhouette became more defined as she came closer. She could see its mouth move and its hand reach for her, black claws long and sharp. The baby’s cry grew louder the closer she got to this being, its presence overwhelming as it lured her to it. Something small moved in its other arm, and her gaze went to it as she stopped before it, finally seeing what it was. A child with golden hair was crying and kicking its legs.

Everil paled in horror. “E-Eleanor!” 

A clawed finger caressed the baby’s cheek, wiping a tear as the monster gazed upon her, its expression unreadable. And even as it touched her, Everil could do nothing to stop it. She could not move, could not scream as the darkspawn placed a glowing hand over the baby’s face. 

“No!” A strike of lightning lit up the royal chamber just as Everil shot up in her bed. Sweat trickled down her brow while she panted for breath, her chest heaving as she clutched it. The baby wailed near the fire, her cries joining the storm outside as Bjorn whined and anxiously sniffed the bassinet. 

Releasing a curse, Everil hurried off the bed and to her daughter, her own pulse racing wildly as images of that ominous figure continued to flash before her mind's eye. The voices were a chorus, chanting in their foreign tongue as the taint's influence continued to make itself known. “It's all right, darling!” she called, picking her up and pulling her to her chest. “Mama’s here!”

But Eleanor's frightened screams wouldn't stop despite Everil's attempts to calm her. She gently rocked her and paced before the fire, while their hound watched them, worry etched over his eyes. It took longer than usual for the voices to stop, then they halted abruptly, leaving her with nothing but the rain's grainy noise and her baby's now quiet whimpers. Slowly, Everil lowered her to inspect her, seeing she was flushed from the strain of weeping, her skin glistening from the tears. 

For a long moment, Everil stood still, gazing upon her babe and breathing steadily as the fireplace lit up her face. In all the books she’d read while searching for a cure, she had not found a single mention of darkspawn with human features. Not even a clue as to what it may be or how it can control her dreams. But tonight, it had crossed a line it shouldn’t have when it brought her child into that nightmare with her. Fear gave way to scorching rage. “Bastard…!” she hissed, again bringing Eleanor to her bosom as the baby whined pitifully. “Fine! You want me to come to you? Then I will come and I will end you! Whatever you are!”

A clap of thunder resounded through the palace as if answering to her anger, again flashing in the room. Everil swallowed and shakily stroked her baby’s back, clenching her jaw as she stared at the flames. _I'll go to Vigil’s Keep and gather my men,_ she thought while holding Eleanor protectively, as if doing so would keep her from the creature’s reach. _I have to search the Deep Roads for that thing and hunt it down!_

She would leave their child behind while Alistair was on an arduous quest of his own. But she had no choice. There was no one else that could stop this. Not if it was her it wanted. 

⚜⚜⚜⚜

Metal jingled as a steel scale mail draped over rich blue leather, flowing halfway to the ground like a bird’s tails. Brown leather straps wrapped around arms and legs, followed by a belt with pouches and a knife. A solid steel plate with a griffon etched over it came to rest over Everil’s chest, shimmering under the sunlight showering the room through the window. Eleanor cooed in the background, held by her elven nanny while two other maids helped tighten the last straps on her Grey Warden armor. One of them stood behind her and gathered up her hair, braiding and bringing it up into an elaborate bun. 

A sigh escaped Everil as she stared at her reflection in her mirror. It hadn’t been two years since the last time she wore these vestiges, and somehow she looked older now than back when she first wore her scout’s armor. That one had been a simpler uniform when compared to this one, however. Now she wore the Warden-Commander garbs the Orlesian Wardens sent to her when the order officially granted her the title.

“You should reconsider, your Majesty,” Eamon said from his place by the nanny, standing with hands clasped at his back while giving her a concerned look. “Traveling during this time will be too dangerous for you.”

“I have to go, Eamon,” she replied, glancing over her shoulder at him as the maids threw a matching blue cloak over her shoulders. “I've delayed this long enough… I cannot keep running away, no matter how hard I try. Queen or not, I am Ferelden’s Warden-Commander and it’s my duty to battle the darkspawn. Besides, there’s something important I need to handle. Something personal.”

His forehead crinkled. “Is this to do with those dreams you mentioned?” 

“Yes.” Her response came in nearly a whisper. “They’ve worsened… I have to stop it.”

A deep sigh escaped him. They'd known all along this day would eventually come, but it seems fate had ill timing. With a revolt in the making, darkspawn wouldn't be the only danger she would face. And although she may be a formidable warrior, she hadn't held her sword since defeating the archdemon, thus he couldn't help fearing for her life. 

“Very well, my lady…” he said, dipping his head. “Shall I send his Majesty notice of this?”

Everil sent him a sad smile. “I already sent him a letter this morning... I wish this didn't have to be when he already has so many other worries, but I had little choice. He will understand.”

“My queen?” a female voice drew their attention to the door as Mhairi entered the chamber, clad in full armor. The knight paused, doing a double-take on her appearance as she turned to face her. “Did you… summon me?”

“I did, Ser Mhairi,” she replied as the elves moved away to retrieve her weapons. “I'm headed for Vigil’s Keep and I want you to come with me. I already sent word ahead to the Grey Wardens.”

“I see...” Mhairi knitted her brow. “Why the sudden need to travel to the keep, my lady? Has something happened with the darkspawn?”

“I'll explain on the way,” Everil responded as the maids returned from the arms room adjacent to the chamber. One carried a sword on her hands, while the other held a dagger. 

With a determined glint in her stare, Everil reached for the first. Her fingers wrapped around Elethea’s hilt, the sapphires encrusted upon it, and its polished blade glimmering with the light inside the room. She lifted it, the familiar weight bringing her a kind of comfort only it could bring. It had been a while since the last time she wielded it, but it felt as if it had been in her hand all along.

She sheathed it at her hip, then picked up the dagger. The winged patterns made a corner of her lips tilt up as memories of their old mentor drifted into her mind. This was Duncan’s dagger once, and now it would slay darkspawn again by her hand. It came to rest at her other hip as another trusted companion.

Now fully geared for her trip, Everil spun about and gazed upon her hound as he sat beside the nanny, waiting expectantly for her. She sauntered to them and took a knee before him. “You're staying here this time, boy.”

He whined and licked her cheek as she stroked his head. 

She smiled at him. This dog was her best friend. A guardian who fought with her and protected her for years, but it was her daughter's turn to have his company. “I need you to continue guarding Eleanor. No matter what happens, do not leave her side. All right?”

Bjorn barked once and again licked her cheek. He would do as she commanded. Not even the castle staff would dare separate him from the child.

Everil rose and faced the nanny, smiling sorrowfully as she took the baby from her arms. “Mama has to go now, my pup…” she whispered to her while bringing her closer. “I don't know for how long I will be gone… but I promise to come back as soon as I've made certain you and I are free.”

The baby reached up, placing a tiny hand on the edge of her lips as tears stung Everil's eyes. Maker, she didn't want to go. She didn't want to miss any precious time with her. But she had to do this if her child was to be safe from what tormented them at night. “I love you, my pup,” she choked out, unable to keep the emotion from her voice. “I love you more than anything in this world.”

“I swear she will be safe, my lady,” the nanny assured her, sympathy in her bright green eyes. The young woman was once one of Eamon's own servants, well trusted. “You have my word.”

A single tear slipped from Everil's grasp as she kissed the baby's forehead, then she carefully returned her to her. “Thank you, Sabina… I know I can depend on you.”

“And on me,” Eamon added with a slight smile. “Fight well, Grey Warden. And come back to us. We will be waiting.”

Everil placed a hand on his shoulder and gave him a firm nod. With resolve set upon her features and she whirled about, walking with purposeful steps towards the door. Mhairi bowed to the regent and turned to follow.

“Ser Mhairi,” Eamon called, stopping her.

“My lord?” she replied, facing him.

“Watch over her.” 

It wasn't a request. It was an order. One she would proudly follow.

“Yes, my lord.” Mhairi slammed a fist to her chest and strode out of the chamber. She met the queen in the hallway and they continued on, with the knight walking a step behind her. Her gaze set upon the back of her head, unwavering.

  
  



	7. Memories

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, I wanted to keep going in this chapter, but then it would be far too long. I'm already working on the next one. Please tell me what you think! Hopefully, there's not too much fluff ;).

⚜

  
  
  
  


_Evergreen trees and grassy hills mad_ e up Highever’s landscape, the crisp air carrying hints of dirt and wood. A detachment of soldiers marched over gravel in perfect formation, following a group of mounted knights as they galloped over the Imperial Highway. Their king led them on horseback, clad in shimmering gold. A purple cloak flowed down his back and a matching plume decorated his helm, while his steed was also armored from head to rump in golden plates. Two of his escorts rode ahead of him, carrying the royal heraldry and an ornate horn at their belts. While beside him was another knight on his steed, moving close to him as they spoke with their helm’s visors up.

“By Andraste, it’s like the Blight never touched these lands,” said Ser Donall, his knight-commander, second only to his queen, the general of his armies. He was a man in his thirties with raven hair, perfectly trimmed, and with a five-o-clock shadow over an angular face. 

“Yes… much of the grain, dried meats, and hardy vegetables delivered to the south comes from Highever.” Alistair kept his eyes on the road ahead. “We have an agreement with the nobles here to aid the still recovering areas of the country. Though, with things as they are, it’s impossible for them to help without losing coin in the process. Not an easy trade-off for a lot of them.”

“I imagine it’s not, but we are in this together, sire.” Donall sternly glanced his way. “Sacrifices must be made to ensure those suffering the worst have a meal in their bellies.”

“Heh… I hope the rest of the lords here see things the same way you do. I would be very disappointed if Loren’s influence reached any of them this far north.”

The forest parted for them as they traveled further towards the coast, revealing a modest town that surrounded an imposing castle in the distance. Wisps of smoke rose from quaint wooden huts, the scent of it mingling with that of the cattle grazing in the outskirts. They crossed the lush field to the gates and his knights blew their horns, the blaring sound announcing their monarch’s arrival. 

Already the people of Highever gathered in the streets in numbers, waiting eagerly to see their king again. They smiled through dirt-stained faces as they spun their heads to the town’s entrance, some whispering excitedly to each other. This wasn’t just their ruler visiting. He was one of the two Grey Wardens who saved their lives, a hero to them all. 

Alistair looked on as he and his men traveled between the crowd. All bowed in reverence as he passed, and he raised a hand to them with a gentle smile. This was where he’d met his wife, and back then he’d been a different man. Riddled with insecurities and self-doubt while still resenting his royal blood and the suffering it caused him throughout his life. He figured he'd grown much since then, after so many battles, brushes with death, and his brief time as a ruler over an entire nation. But really, he wouldn't have found his confidence if it hadn’t been for her and that shove in the right direction she gave him after meeting his shrew of a sister while on their quest against the Blight. 

Not having her counsel now felt strange, as if he were missing part of the experience he needed. But this was a test he had to overcome on his own. He had to earn the trust of every lord in the teyrnir and bring their support with him to the Bannorn. That meant he couldn’t rely on others to solve this problem. Not this time.

Highever’s banner flapped over the castle’s gates as they entered the courtyard. Knights posted at each side welcomed them with fists at their chests while Teyrn Fergus Cousland waited at the castle’s grand entrance with more of his men. He wore fine brown leather, with an olive green tunic underneath, his dark brown hair slightly tousled. Smiling warmly as they approached, he took a knee and his men followed suit.

Alistair raised a fist, commanding his detachment to a halt. The soldiers remained in formation, as he and his royal escort dismounted. Ser Donall and the others let him move ahead, then faithfully followed him as he removed his helm. “Good to see you again, Fergus,” greeted the king with a grin, walking up to his brother-in-law and reaching for a handshake. 

“Likewise, your Majesty. Welcome back to my humble abode!” the slightly older man rose to his feet, giving his forearm a firm shake. “How was the trip here?”

“Oh, you know how it goes... Nothing like riding for hours on end and camping out in the middle of nowhere, while occasionally stopping to solve the world’s problems,” Alistair replied hopelessly. “It sort of brought back memories, actually.”

“I’m sure it did…” Fergus chuckled and gestured for the heavy doors as his knights opened them. “Come, we can catch up inside.”

The two of them plus his escort walked into the grand hall, their steps echoing within the chamber. Indigo banners with Highever’s heraldry of the willow branches hung from the rafters, swaying gently in the breeze. A grand fire burned at the end of the hall, filling it with its warmth. It was difficult to believe Howe’s men had once set the place aflame, though there were still shadows staining the stone. 

“It seems the castle’s reconstruction is almost done…” Alistair pointed out, observing their surroundings as they crossed over the red carpet. 

“Some of it is still in progress, but yes. The living areas have been completely renovated. It will still take more time for things to feel… normal again, however.” Fergus paused for a moment, his gaze downcast. “If they ever do. It all still feels so empty without the others.”

The king gave him a sympathetic look. “Yes. I can imagine…” 

“But enough about that…” Fergus stopped at the bottom of the steps leading up to the seating area by the fire. “How’s my sister doing? And my niece? Last I visited she was but a few weeks old! She’s probably grown much since.”

“She has.” Alistair smiled wistfully. “They’re doing well, thank the Maker. Everil has fully recovered and is back to her old self. And Eleanor…” A proud grin split his face. “She is the perkiest, most adorable little thing you’d ever see. She has the cutest giggles… The best therapy after a long day of dealing with bitter old men at court.” He huffed dejectedly at the memory. “Aah, I miss them so much…”

Fergus patted his shoulder. “Of that, I am certain, brother. Perhaps I’ll ride to Denerim with you when this is over.”

“Yeah, I’m sure the wife would be delighted to see you again.” Alistair drew in a breath as his tired mind brought him back to the task at hand. “At any rate… Where are we in the meeting with your vassals? Have they arrived yet?”

“They should all be here by tomorrow.” Fergus clasped his hands behind his back, lifting his chin. “I’ve told no one of the reason behind your visit. So if there are any in my teyrnir who would dare act against you, then you and I will find out together and handle matters then and there.”

“Perfect.” Alistair nodded once and lifted an eyebrow. “Is there anything else I should know? Do they have any… grievances I should be aware of?”

"Nothing you haven't already heard about, your Majesty. They continue to complain about the loss of earnings..." Fergus sighed wearily. "They seem to conveniently forget that even I am losing coin in this, but we're the ones who are best off out of the rest of Ferelden. It is our responsibility to aid our fellow countrymen. Some do have some legitimate concerns, however. Mainly around the safety of our caravans and paying for labor. But perhaps you and I can quell their anxiety and find a solution."

Alistair frowned. "Yeah... Maybe."

If Fergus Cousland, someone with years of experience in politics, was having trouble appeasing his subordinates, then there was a bigger challenge ahead than he'd expected. They would have to join forces to reign in the lords. Otherwise, even if he maintained their loyalty, some could break away from his fold further down the road.

"How about we continue this discussion over some good food and wine?" Fergus offered, smacking his arm. "I promise there won't be any poison."

The king laughed. "That sounds like a great idea."

⚜⚜⚜⚜

Night had fallen by the time Alistair retreated to one of the teyrn’s lavish guest chambers, escorted by two of his knights, who were now standing guard in the hall. The room had a four-poster bed at its center, a desk by the fire, a wardrobe, a dresser, and a chair by the window. Furs decorated the floors while fine paintings of Fereldan landscapes hung over the walls. A cast iron bathtub sat in another corner, already filled with hot water sprinkled with lemongrass, waiting for him.

His golden armor reflected the firelight from its stand in another corner. Two maids had helped rid him of it before preparing his tub and bringing him more wine, bread, and cheese. Thankfully, he could trust his brother-in-law and his staff, rather than constantly have to watch his back as he had in the other homesteads he’d visited. 

“Ugh… I think my arse is still numb from riding all day,” Alistair grumbled as he removed his shirt and tossed it over the bed. He took off his boots next, kicking them to the side before sliding off his trousers and doing the same. He wasn’t in the mood to be tidy right now and he felt filthy from all the traveling. Exhaustion was a monumental understatement, his body sore and stiff. All he wanted to do was bathe and then sleep until morning. He may have had a bed and a grand tent out in the field—thanks to the perks of being royalty—but nothing could compare to sleeping indoors, with the warmth of a fire right in the room and without worrying about wild animals or daring bandits disrupting the peace. 

Releasing a deep sigh, he lowered himself into the tub and let the waters ease the knots in his muscles. He blissfully closed his eyes and leaned his head back, basking in the quiet. After a moment, he opened his ambers once more, gazing at the ceiling. This had been the very room in which he and Everil had stayed during their last visit before Eleanor was born. 

They’d come for Duncan and her family’s funeral and to unveil a monument in the name of their late mentor. It hadn’t been easy for her, especially in her condition. But she’d vehemently insisted to hold the ceremony despite his suggestion to wait until after she gave birth. A slight smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as he thought back to that day... 

⚜⚜⚜⚜

Chirping came as several bluebirds bounced over the stone in Highever castle’s courtyard, pecking at seeds between the cracks while bathing under the afternoon sun. They flapped their wings and flew away from galloping hooves as a retinue of knights in silver and gold rode in, escorting a cherry wood carriage pulled by white steeds. They pranced to a stop a distance from the gates, where the teyrn and several knights waited for their visitors **.**

The coachman climbed down from his perch and stepped to the door, opening it before bending at the waist. The carriage shifted as Alistair stepped out, wearing a black fur-trimmed gambeson and a matching velvet cloak. He faced the carriage and offered his wife a hand. Her delicate fingers came to rest over his palm before she made her descent, black velvet dress flowing over her pregnant belly. A thick, hooded cloak lined in gray fur covered her shoulders, shielding her from Ferelden's chilly weather.

“Watch your step, love,” he instructed, carefully helping her to the ground.

Everil smiled a little up at him. “I’m fine, Alistair. You worry too much.”

A playful snicker made its way to his face. “Hey, you may have defeated an archdemon, but your balance isn’t as great now as it was back then.”

That earned him a light smack to the chest and a subtle glare. “Laugh it up. You may end up sleeping with Bjorn tonight.”

“Ouch. All right,” he chuckled. “Though, it wouldn’t be the first time someone banished me to the kennels...”

Said hound jumped out after her, then sniffed the familiar air around them before whining in the castle’s direction. Both Alistair and Everil followed his line of vision and gazed up at the tower spires, all humor leaving their features. She took a step, lips parted while a cool breeze picked up her chocolate locks. Shoulders stiff, she stared at what used to be her home.

Alistair’s eyes softened at her silence, aware of the pain she probably felt upon returning to where she’d lost most of her family. He took her hand in his, drawing her hesitant blues to him. “We don’t have to do this today, my dear. We can go back and—”

“No…” she breathed, casting her eyes to the ground. “We’re here now… I want to see this through.”

He stepped closer and gently kissed her temple. “Very well.”

They walked the rest of the way to the doors, followed by their royal guard and Everil’s handmaid as her brother and his men took a knee before them. 

“I bid you welcome, my king and queen,” Fergus said with a bowed head.

“Brother…” Everil didn’t wait for him to rise before wrapping her arms around his neck.

“Hi, little sister…” Fergus pushed himself to his feet and held her tight, brushing her hair with his fingers. “It’s so good to see you…” His eyes went to the king. “And you, your Majesty.”

Alistair offered him a warm smile in return. “It’s nice to see you too, Fergus.”

“It’s been a few months since you left Denerim.” She withdrew from him, giving him a once-over. “You look well… Your decision to return here so soon had me worried. It must have been hard to come back to the castle with their ghosts so close.”

“I’m still taking it one day at a time, Evy,” he admitted, gently tucking a loose lock behind her ear. “It’s gotten a little easier… but not by much.”

Her eyebrows knitted in empathy. “I know. I still feel their loss too...”

“Hey, let me have a look at you.” Changing the subject, Fergus grasped her shoulders and took a step back, inspecting her with a wide grin. “Maker’s breath, it’s as if you’re about to burst! Should you even be here right now?” 

“I know, right?” Alistair stepped in with a helpless expression, placing a hand at the small of her back. “I told her we should postpone the ceremony for after the babe is born but she’s stubborn. She wouldn’t listen to me.”

“Yes. Stubborn as a boar, I always said.” Fergus chuckled, grinning at him. “But you knew what you were getting yourself into when you married her.”

“Yep… I willingly signed up for this.”

Everil’s eye twitched. “I’m standing right here, you two...”

Laughing again, Fergus placed a careful hand over her womb. “Well, I’m sure you’ll be just fine.” He then spoke in a playful tone. “Hi, little one. It is I, your Uncle Fergus. Welcome to my castle.”

The baby kicked at his palm, drawing another chortle out of him while a smile played over his sister’s lips.

“Mother and Father would have been so happy…” he wistfully whispered.

“Yes…” Everil placed a comforting hand over his, her expression mirroring his. “Yes, they would have…”

They held the ceremony outside the castle, in a wide-open field where all the townsfolk gathered behind a wall of armored knights. Their monarchs and teyrn stood on an elevated platform decorated with white flowers, facing the ocean while listening to the chantry’s Revered Mother speak for all to hear, “And may the Maker rest their heads upon His bosom, where they shall bask in His love forever. For we were created by His grace, and to Him we shall return. Take solace, my sons and daughters, for those who pass on suffer not and those whose sins are forgiven shall live on in the peace of His embrace.”

There were no remains to bury after Rendon Howe and his men burned the bodies along with much of the castle after the siege. All they had were rose bouquets they cast into the sea after the sermon. Everil had her hand under Alistair’s bent arm when he gazed at her profile, seeing that she hadn’t shed a tear the entire time. She watched the waves drag away the beautiful flowers, while her older brother let a few tears escape him, unable to contain the grief he yet felt at the loss of his wife and child. Alistair wasn’t all that surprised by her show of strength, though. His wife wasn’t one to reveal her pain in front of others, though she could never hide it from him.

After saying their last goodbyes to her deceased family, he, Everil, and her hound returned to the castle, while Fergus stayed behind to speak with some of his castle staff. They trekked through the open passages as they explored her old home. Much of it was rebuilt, but there were still areas covered in soot, and the scent of smoke and ash wafted to their noses no matter where they went. Much of the furniture lacked the wear and tear of years of use after being passed down from generation to generation. And walls that once collapsed after the fire had some new stone on top of old.

They entered the library as Everil left his side and trudged ahead of him, observing their surroundings. A fireplace provided warmth and light in the far end, while a couple of chairs and a small table before it cast shadows over the red-carpeted floor. Bookshelves lined the place, filled with a multitude of tomes and scrolls, while paintings of Andrastian figures hung on the walls. 

“This is where our scholar, Brother Aldous, taught me about the Grey Wardens… or at least what was portrayed in texts,” she said, approaching a shelf. “Hmm... None of these books were here before... These are different.”

Alistair folded his arms a few steps behind her. “How can you tell?”

“I read every book here growing up…” She picked up one of the tomes, opening it and flipping through the pages. “We used to have old ones that depicted our family's history—both our victories and our failures. Everything about my lineage. I don't see any of them here anymore.” She glanced around, furrowing her brow. “And the paintings… We had portraits of our ancestors here. They're gone too.”

“Maybe Fergus moved them?”

“No… I'm certain Howe burned them…” she sighed and shook her head, closing the tome and clutching it with white knuckles. “That bastard probably hated us so much that he tried to erase us from existence.”

Alistair came closer, gently stroking her back. “I'm sure there are some texts left out there. Your family’s one of the oldest and most influential in Ferelden. Someone, somewhere may have copies.”

She smiled a little at his attempt at comforting her. “I hope you’re right… Perhaps my brother will find them, if that’s the case.”

After placing the book back where she found it, they left the study and continued their stroll through the castle. The sun was setting, bathing the open passages in pink and orange hues. The hanging ivy adorning the overhead arches flowered, their white blossoms contrasting with the orange skies. 

Her steps eventually brought them to another part of the castle that still carried the scars from that fateful night. “This is the family wing… where we used to spend most of our time away from the rest of the residence. It seems Fergus hasn’t bothered rebuilding it,” Everil said softly as they stepped over scattered bits of rubble. “He’s probably even avoided coming anywhere near here…” 

“Yeah…” Alistair murmured beside her. “I can’t say I blame him…”

They came to the end of the passage and she gazed through an open doorway, seeing the scorched area beyond. This seemed to be where the brunt of the fire took place. It was dark and desolate, lacking the torches that once lit their way, while faint slivers of light filtered through cracks on the ceiling. “This… is where our bed-chambers used to be. Where it all started for me...” she whispered, fingers curling into fists.

Alistair placed a hand on her shoulder. “Are you all right?”

She nodded, swallowing thick. “Yes… I…”

Her eyes went wide and she stiffened as if someone poured icy water over her. 

“Love?” he called with a subtle frown. “Are you… sure?” 

For a moment she remained frozen in place, then she took a few steps, prompting him to grab her wrist. “Wait... What are you doing?” he asked with an arched eyebrow. “You can’t go in there.”

“But I… I need to go inside,” she said without looking at him, her voice distant.

“No, it doesn’t look safe. What if the roof falls on us or something? Let’s go back.” He tried to pull on her, but she wedged her wrist free and ran in with her hound in toe. “Everil!” he called after her and gave chase. “Damn it!”

She picked up her skirts and hurried through the long hallway, her flats kicking up ash and dust. They passed the sitting room, bookshelves, paintings, and chairs all burned beyond recognition. With his heart in his throat, he tailed her, trying to catch up to her. “Everil, stop!” he called again, but she wouldn't listen, crossing through another doorway. 

Finally, she came to a halt, coughing out the ashes she’d breathed in. She gulped and looked toward one of the rooms through wide, panicked blues. And she froze once more, sweat trickling down her brow.

“Everil!” Alistair grabbed her by the arm, aggravated and out of breath himself. “What in the Maker’s name were you thinking! You could’ve—”

_“Help.”_

His head snapped in the voice's direction as he pulled her behind him, hand flying to his sword. It was black in the room she’d been staring at, so dark that he couldn’t make out anything but a few pieces of decrepit, burnt wood reaching out to them like bony fingers. Beside him, Bjorn growled at the shadows, prepared to pounce.

It was then that Alistair noticed the sharp drop in temperature. They were nearing summer, yet it was as cold as a cruel winter’s eve. He breathed out smoke while a deafening silence hung over them, stretching on as seconds ticked by until they heard that tiny voice again.

_“Help.”_

“Who’s there?” he demanded sharply, his glare narrowing.

A boy's figure gradually materialized at the chamber's doorway, his back to him, granting him a clear view of the grizzly gash that cut across his spine. He sluggishly turned around to face them, youthful features drenched in fear. _“Help, Aunty.”_

“Oren…” Everil gasped, stepping around her husband and clutching her chest. “Maker… It’s him.”

“Your nephew?” But Alistair wasn't convinced, and neither was their hound as he kept his battle stance.

 _“Help me, Aunt Evy,”_ he repeated, tears rolling down his cheeks as he outstretched an arm to her. 

“Oh, Oren...” she choked up, going nearer to the boy she'd watched die in her arms. “I’m so sorry…”

“Wait…!” Alistair tried to reach for her but she kept walking as if in a trance, slipping from his grasp.

“I'm sorry I couldn’t save you…” she lamented. "I'm sorry I didn't hear you call for me that night…" Her trembling hand went to him, reaching out to try to take his. And just before her fingers touched him, the spirit’s face distorted into an enraged sneer and its body morphed into something else. Everil gasped as the being whirled up like a phantom, a black creature with glowing, yellow eyes, towering over her. She scrambled backward and tripped onto her rear, releasing a horrified scream.

“Shit!” Alistair darted forth.

The shade flew at her with a ravenous roar. Everil clenched her teeth, grabbed a piece of charred wood, and swung, breaking it across its face and narrowly halting its advance. Alistair drove his sword into its chest, then the former templar unleashed his will in a surge of power that sent the demon smashing through a burnt bookcase and onto a wall. Wasting no time, he closed the distance with purposeful strides and slashed off its monstrous head in one swift swing. It screeched as it evaporated, returning to the Fade where it belonged and taking the frigid air along with it.

Alistair sheathed his blade and spun about, rushing to her side. “Everil!” He took a knee beside her. “My love, are you all right? Are you hurt?”

“I’m… all right now… I think...” She shuddered and licked her lips, gazing up at him. “W-What… was that?”

“A shade... Lesser demons that toy with people’s minds and feed on their energy.” He cupped her cheek, then glanced back towards the room. “Many died when the castle was attacked that night… That probably weakened the Veil here just enough to let some through.”

“I… I thought it was…” She gripped his gambeson’s collar, grief twisting her face as a sob escaped her. “Oh, Maker… My poor little nephew…”

“I know…” He embraced her, holding her tightly to him. “It’s all right... No one’s here but us.”

Those words seemed to shatter her defenses, and she crumbled into a heap of broken sobs, weeping against his chest while holding onto him as if he were her lifeline. His fingers gently stroked her hair as he listened to her with a heavy heart. This entire visit she'd restrained her sadness, hiding it away so no one else could see her fall apart. She was the hero of Ferelden and a queen, thus in her stubborn mind, she couldn't cry. Couldn't reveal to them her agony and grief at the risk of appearing weak before her people. 

He held her for as long as she needed him to, shielding her from the world beyond this unlit corridor. Until her sobs turned into quiet whimpers and she took in a deep, quivering breath. “Thank you…”

“Anytime...” He tenderly kissed her forehead, his lips lingering over her brow as he gently wiped the moisture from her cheek with his thumb. “Come on… I think you’ve had enough for today.” Carefully, he gathered her into his arms and lifted her off the ground. She leaned her head against his shoulder, one hand over her belly as he carried her out of the ruins, their mabari tailing them closely with his guard up.

“Darling…” Everil whispered tiredly, her eyelids growing heavy.

“Hm?”

“Please don’t tell Fergus about what we saw…”

“I won’t… But he’ll need to call on the templars to do a sweep of the castle in case there’s more of those things lying in wait.”

“Agreed…” she sighed, nuzzling his neck.

The next morning, they would unveil the monument in Duncan’s memory and continue to mourn their dead. At least now they were free of the Blight's threat and had a future to look forward to. Even with the pain they still felt for those they lost.

⚜⚜⚜⚜

After throwing on a white tunic, Alistair ran a hand through his hair and released a weary huff. He trudged to the window, looking out at the silver moon nestled between the clouds. And he wondered how she and their babe were doing. If she was sleeping well without him or if her nightmares still haunted her. _They’ll be fine…_ he told himself, staring at the horizon, while torches lit up the town’s streets below. _Just focus on your task. For their sake and for Ferelden’s._

He steeled himself, gripping the windowsill. “I need to prepare for tomorrow. Rest can come later.” 

With renewed determination, he spun about and strode across the room to the desk where he'd already stacked several documents Fergus gave him upon request. All were formal petitions, letters, and individual trade deals amongst Highever's nobles. He needed to know exactly what their viewpoints were in regards to their trading situation. And if they thought he would simply cave to all of their demands, then they had another thing coming. His primary reason for being there may be to solidify their fealty to him, but they would have earn every inch they'd take in exchange.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	8. Of Words and Steel

⚜

Horses and carriages traveled through Highever’s bustling town and toward the castle as the teyrn’s lords answered his call. They trickled into the building and sat at the tables that expanded the length of the meeting chamber, while knights stood like statues in every corner, silently watching their every move. Elven servants served them wine, fruits, and bread as they chatted and awaited the arrival of the remaining nobles. 

Seated at the center of the table closest to the two fireplaces in the back of the room was their young king, clad in his brown gambeson trimmed in wolf fur and with his crown upon his head. Highever’s teyrn sat at his right, wearing a dark green gambeson embroidered in gold. Their position overlooked the entire room from a higher viewpoint, allowing them to see everyone present, all the way to the doors. 

A lord entered the room and crossed the long stretch to the center of the chamber, bowing deeply to his monarch with a fist over his chest. With a neutral expression, Alistair raised his hand to him, granting him leave to sit. It was an action he had to repeat several times that morning, automatic, yet tiring. To the point where he couldn’t resist the wide yawn that slipped out of him.

Glancing at him, Fergus leaned over and spoke discreetly behind his cup. “Didn’t get much sleep I take it?”

“Nope,” Alistair replied just as quiet. “Why? Do I look like one of the dead?”

“Maybe half-way dead.”

“Ah… Then it’s not as bad as I thought.”

The teyrn picked up a grape and munched on it. There was a brief pause as his king waved at another nobleman, then Fergus whispered again behind his chalice, “Do you suspect any of them by chance?”

“No…” Alistair ate a piece of cheese and washed it down with wine, enjoying the bitterness and heat that perked up his tired mind. “Honestly, those in the south are the ones that concern me the most. They have more reasons to be upset with our current state of affairs and can be easily manipulated into believing that bloody traitor’s conspiracy theories.”

“Are you thinking of organizing our military then? If there’s a civil war brewing...”

“I don’t know how bad things are yet… but yes. Maintaining your support and that of your vassals means your forces will be within reach if I have a need for them later on.” He released a breath through the nose, placing his cup down and clasping his hands at his chin. “I just hope things don’t escalate that far. I really don’t want to fight my own people, and Ferelden _really_ doesn’t need any more conflict right now.”

“Well, it goes without saying that you already have my support.” Fergus gazed at those present, his expression unreadable. “Even if that means eventually meeting some in this room out on the battlefield. As you said, however, let's hope it doesn't come to that.”

Alistair gave him a wry, half-smile. “Yeah… Thanks, Fergus.”

His brother-in-law patted his shoulder as the two of them waited for the last of the banns to take a seat. The chatter continued along with the clattering of plates and forks as the nobles talked amongst themselves. A few minutes passed as Alistair prepared himself mentally for what was to come, then raised one hand to everyone below.

Silence dawned over them at that simple gesture until they could hear not a peep in the grand chamber. Everyone directed their full attention to their king, then he spoke for all to hear, “Before we talk about the serious stuff, I give my thanks to each of you for meeting with me today. I also thank Teyrn Cousland for arranging this gathering. I know it's not as exciting as a Landsmeet, but hey… you can't all just drop everything and go to Denerim for some good old eye-gouging and shouting matches.”

That earned him some laughs. 

“I just know how much you all love those…” He smiled a little, trying to keep the mood light as he edged into the critical topics. “At any rate, let's talk about what's important, shall we? I came here to see how your lands were faring and I heard from my brother-in-law here that many of you aren't pleased with the trade agreement we made shortly after the Blight ended. I understand the south hasn't recovered as quickly as we'd hoped, which means you're stuck helping your fellow countrymen for a longer period of time. And I am aware that such an arrangement is taking a toll on your finances, but unfortunately, if we don't continue to aid those hit the hardest, there will be far more human suffering in Ferelden, and preventing that, to me, is far more important than monetary loss.”

“That may be so, sire. But we will see the same in our people if the coin isn't flowing both ways,” spoke the only woman in the room. Bann Eliz of the Feravel Planes bannorn. She was an older lady, with snow-white hair tied into a long braid she had over one shoulder. Her lilac dress spoke of wealth, and as one who held much of the grain and meats, she surely was wealthy. “With respect, we can't continue with this idealistic way. I can’t afford to pay for labor as I used to and having to increase my harvest plus the loss of some of my people to darkspawn attacks a few months ago left me short-handed. We need an immediate change to our existing trade agreement.”

There was some chatter in the room as others joined in, agreeing with her point. Alistair raised a hand to silence them. “All right, Bann Eliz. I am open to suggestions, but we can’t stop the flow of provisions to the south. What changes do you have in mind to ensure our arrangement works?”

“I say we limit the more valuable shipments for trade with the Free Marches and areas within Ferelden that can actually afford it. Those in the south would get the cheapest to harvest and transport in bulk, such as grain. That’s really all they need to feed themselves, anyway.”

“I agree with that proposal,” said a middle-aged fellow, raising his hand. It was Bann Denton of the Morcrest bannorn, an area known for its broad variety of medicinal herbs. “Your Majesty, our caravans have been hit more frequently on the way to the south. I’ve lost both men and high-grade herbs to the Highwaymen because they now know how often we send them and what we carry. They've stolen hundreds of valuable crates from me. And with the loss of coin due to the low prices, I can't hire extra hands to help protect my merchandise.”

“You want to limit medicine shipments?” Alistair lifted an eyebrow at him. “Look, I get that the economic situation isn't easy, but we can't just deny those people the herbs and poultices they need. Elfroot isn't growing as well in the Hinterlands either, so I’m sorry, but we need to find another way to protect your goods and make up the difference in coin.”

“Uhm…” Denton furrowed his brow. “Perhaps we should raise the prices on the more valuable sort?”

“So only those who can afford it can live and the poorest die for lack of proper medicine? No, I don’t think so…” Alistair shook his head and leaned back in his chair, slightly irritated by his suggestion. He sighed, trying to think back on Eamon’s lessons. When he'd drafted the first trade deal with the northern lands he'd just taken over the throne. He had little experience in commerce and even his treasurer back in Denerim had struggled to explain what works and what doesn't because of the chaotic state of the country back then. Perhaps a blanket deal didn't work because each of them had different needs. 

“How about we categorize what should and shouldn’t be regulated and make adjustments based on that?” Fergus suggested, glancing at the king. “Perhaps we can also raise prices in areas less affected by the Blight and on trade with the Free Marches and Orlais. Especially on herbs and goods they can’t grow themselves. We can lower prices on other non-essential things with trade outside our borders to help even things out.”

Several in the room spoke up in agreement, exchanging nods. 

“That may work…” Alistair also agreed, smiling gratefully at Fergus. “Maybe we can start by—”

“They ain’t worth it,” one voice spoke up, Bann Caldwell of Bronach. He leaned forward, elbows on the table before taking a drink from his wine, some trickling down his chin. He wiped it and grinned widely at the king. “I ask you, _my king_ … Why do we keep having to give up our wealth and run in these many circles for those who’re willingly livin’ on blighted lands?”

Alistair’s attention went to the redheaded man, his bold question catching him by surprise. “What?”

A few noblemen muttered the same question, while others glared at Caldwell for his indiscretion. He shrugged them off. “They choose to be there… It’s their own damn fault they can’t feed their own. If we focus on them instead of ourselves, we won’t have what’s needed to protect our lands.”

Fergus shot him a glare. “Bann Caldwell, what do you—”

“Wait,” Alistair interrupted him, then moved in, clasping his hands over the table. “All right, ser. I’m going to… _attempt_ to set aside the fact that you basically just told me I should ignore the plight of your fellow countrymen. Me, who is responsible for safekeeping their lives and their future… and oh! Guess what? Yours too.”

All in the room remained quiet as he spoke, sensing his irritation. 

“And I will ask you… From whom are you saying you need to protect your lands? Are you having problems with bandits or darkspawn?”

A nonchalant look remained on Caldwell’s freckled face. “I mean from an Orlesian invasion, sire. They’re coming, you know.”

“The Orlesians?” another noble asked, joined by a few gasps.

“That’s ridiculous,” Teyrn Fergus spoke up. “Where in the Maker’s name did you hear such a lie, man?”

“I have an idea from whom…” Alistair answered, narrowing his eyes. “Did Bann Loren pay you a visit, Bann Caldwell? Are you allied with him in his schemes?”

“What schemes?” asked another lord in the room. A few others whispered, “What’s the king talking about?”

“Nae, your Majesty. I don’t even know what it is you mean by that.” Caldwell wrinkled his brow, seemingly confused by the accusation. “I simply heard that one of those Orlesian high borns came to you a while back askin’ to let some of his friends move back into our lands. He even brought you a gift that you accepted. That did trouble me so, is all.”

“By the Maker…” Eliz gasped, while others spoke their concerns more quietly.

“You’ve no need to be ‘troubled’ over that,” Alistair asserted, sitting up and lifting his nose at him. “I told the Marquis that Ferelden’s lands belong to Fereldans alone. The Orlesians have no claim over them, even if they walk up to me with some... piece of paper stating otherwise.”

Caldwell popped a piece of cheese into his mouth and chewed. “Do you think they’ll care about that, sire? That they’ll listen to you?”

“I would watch that tongue of yours, Caldwell…” Fergus warned, scowling at him.

“I’m asking genuine questions here, your Lordship. I’m nothing but a concerned citizen.” He swallowed the morsel and grinned through rotten teeth. “Why were you even negotiating with the Orlesians, your Majesty? Aren’t we here now griping over who gets what of our crops and other things?”

Some muttered to each other, sending their monarch wary looks, while others grumbled about their fellow nobleman’s veiled accusations.

 _Bastard…_ Alistair remained as calm as he could in spite of his indignation. It was possible this man was working with the one who started the rumors about Orlesian influence on the throne, but he couldn’t be sure. He needed to play it safe for now. 

“Let me make this clear, Bann Caldwell…” he began evenly while unable to keep the edge from his voice. “I don’t have to explain myself to you, nor to anyone in this room. But because I respect those of you who fought bravely to free our country from Orlesian occupation, I will clarify a few things… I am here now because I want us to work together in solving our problems and strengthening one another. The more we help each other, the less we need to depend on or be wary of those outside our borders. That you would suggest we break away from aiding the south only brings me to question how much you know about what makes Ferelden strong enough to handle any threat.” 

The chamber again fell silent as their king spoke with conviction. 

“We’re resilient when we are united, it’s really not that difficult to understand. That we defeated a Blight when there were only two Grey Wardens to fight it proves that. If it hadn’t been for all Fereldans joining forces, I guarantee that my queen and I would have failed and your head would be decorating some darkspawn’s spear instead of being here now, drinking wine, and questioning my judgment.” 

Caldwell sent him an annoyed look, while the rest of the room exchanged proud nods and whispers of agreement.

“So…” Alistair put on a smug grin and leaned forward. “Does that ease your... _troubles_? Or should I simplify things further to help you out?”

There were a few chuckles, which only aggravated the bann's mood. 

“No, sire… I… understand.”

“Glad to hear it.” He nodded, then addressed the rest of the chamber. “All of you… Fergus and I will work on a new trade agreement based on what we discussed today so you will see your individual situations improve in the coming days. Now, I want you to know that the reason behind my visit wasn’t just to see the state of your lands, but also that of our relations as a nation. The name I mentioned before is that of a traitor scheming against me. For what purpose, I don’t yet know. But he has been gathering the support of others in the Bannorn through intimidation and through lies. If you are all loyal to the crown, then you will prove it to me by swearing that you will join my efforts in bringing this man and his followers to justice, especially if you know of others allied with him.”

“Maker’s blood…” Bann Denton breathed uncomfortably. “Why would Bann Loren do such a thing?”

“Because he fears the Orlesians,” Fergus replied, glaring pointedly at Caldwell. “He believes they control our king and influence our government. I say those are the ravings of a man driven by malice and ambition! And I ask, my lords and lady: Do you pledge your fealty to our king? Or to a known liar who seeks to destroy the alliances we are working so hard to build?”

Bann Eliz rose from her chair, placing both hands on the table. “The king clearly cares about our people. He has shown us his commitment to us today.” She straightened and bowed to him with a fist to her chest. “You have my unwavering loyalty, my liege.”

“Mine too, sire,” Bann Delton joined her.

Others in the room followed suit without question. And so passionate were they in their proclamations to their monarch they didn’t notice one of them had slipped out of the chamber without saying a word. Except for the king himself, who rested his jaw on a fist and set his sharpened ambers on Bann Caldwell’s retreating back. 

⚜⚜⚜⚜

The skies darkened as rain clouds crept over the horizon, hiding the setting sun. Soldiers walked the training grounds and patrolled the battlements, chatting what remained of the day away. While inside, the visiting lords gathered in the castle’s grand hall, deep in conversation and enjoying a feast as a minstrel played her music. It was a toast to their visiting monarch, their solidified alliance, and a small celebration of a new trade deal that would eventually ease some of their worries. They drank and laughed, some men dancing to the melody with their wives. But although the guests were enjoying themselves, their host and his guest of honor were the only ones absent. 

“You should have told me right away, Alistair... I would have had him dragged into my dungeon in chains.” Seated by the fire in his study, Fergus sighed and shook his head before taking a gulp of his wine. 

“I didn’t want him imprisoned just yet,” Alistair quietly replied, leaning with an arm on the mantle, while also holding a cup of drink. “I want him to go to his boss and tell him what happened today. If there’s anything I’ve learned from dealing with traitors is that they eventually become paranoid and make mistakes.”

“But that’s a risky move… What if his loose tongue sways others as it almost did today?” 

“I don’t think he’ll have the guts to go elsewhere with his lies. I’m pretty sure he knows I saw him leave.” Alistair drank his wine and let out a wry chuckle. “He’s more likely to go straight back to Bronach to hole himself up in his castle and send word to Loren about his failure. Maybe even act as if nothing happened while he waits for his friends to continue the dirty work. He just seems like that type of guy...”

“What do you want to do?” Fergus crossed his legs, knitting his eyebrows. “He’s one of my vassals, and therefore my responsibility to deal with too. I was already going to ride with you to Waking Sea but now I want to pay that rat a visit first.”

“I believe we should drop by, yes.” The king stared down at the burning coals, his glistening eyes calculating. “He’ll be easier to interrogate after he’s had some time to dwell in that little mind of his. He can tell me who else is in on this or give us a clue as to how many have turned.”

“And what then...?”

A breath escaped Alistair as he scowled at the flames. “What happens next will depend on him.”

“Death would be appropriate, if you ask me…” Fergus muttered darkly, glaring at his chalice. This wasn’t just about a man under him betraying his country, but he was also acting against his sister. Threatening the king’s rule also meant threatening his queen and heir. If this was putting Everil and her family in danger, then the matter was more than just politics. It was personal.

The door to the study swung open when a soldier burst in. “Your Lordship!”

“What is it?” Fergus rose to his feet, seeing the alarm on his face. 

“D-Darkspawn! In Hamish’s Ford! One of the villagers came to the gates looking for help!”

“What? How many?” Alistair took a step, his expression hardening.

“He said they’re… hundreds. They’re battling each other. Like they’re at war, but the village is caught in the middle!” He swallowed, drawing a breath. “He… He didn’t make it. He was badly hurt.”

“Damn it...” The king gripped his cup, clenching his jaw. They were a ways from Vigil’s Keep, so unless there were Grey Wardens already on the road, they would likely not make it in time to save the village. He had to do something, and it seemed there was only one thing he could do. 

  
  


⚜⚜⚜⚜

The thundering gallop of several horses filled the night as a sizable group of silver knights wearing both the royal seal and Highever’s heraldry sped through the fields, heavy rain pouring over them. A golden knight led them, his cloak flowing behind him, sword at his hip, and shield at his back. A clap of thunder came, lighting up the skies and flashing the bloody battle between monsters still happening on the horizon. 

With his visor still up, Alistair narrowed his eyes and stared at the ongoing carnage as the familiar voices of the taint spoke into his mind. Fires burned in the tiny farming village while hurlocks and genlocks hacked at each other, competing for the conquest. Whatever was going on, it looked much like the scenes Elias and the other Wardens described in their letters to the palace. 

_I thought they had cleaned up the Blight’s leftovers… Are these some that fell through the cracks?_

“We’ll flank them!” Alistair roared over his shoulder. “Kill every one of them! And whatever you do, don’t let their blood touch your eyes or mouth, else their taint will kill you!”

“Aye!” Ser Donall replied, joined by the others behind them.

A hurlock struck down another just as it heard the incoming forces. It turned to them, its brethren doing the same. 

Alistair lowered his visor, then drew his blade, aiming it at them as he cried out, “For Ferelden!”

And then the knights were on them, their horses trampling over several enemies while their riders slashed through multiple more. Alistair swung his sword in a low arch, decapitating a hurlock before turning his horse and swiping at two more. Seeing they were getting decimated, the dakspawn stopped fighting each other and turned their murderous sights to them.

The king blocked a jagged blade, then metal screeched over metal as he parried it off. He thrust, piercing through the enemy’s skull. Another hurlock grabbed at his cloak and pulled him from his horse, slamming him on the muddy ground. Alistair rolled, dodging an axe and landing on a knee. He slashed, gutting the enemy as black entrails pooled at its feet. His fist connected with another’s face as he rose, knocking it back before pulling out his shield and blocking a hit with it. 

His heart raced, and the voices chanted their battle-song in his brain, the rain soaking him to the bone. He hadn’t fought the creatures since the end of the Blight, but it felt as if he had never stopped. And he hadn’t. His connection to them was constant. A current he couldn’t cut off. 

Another hurlock’s head rolled, its blood spraying over him as he spun, blocked a hit, and slashed at the one behind him. It fell and Alistair heard a scream coming from one of the burning huts nearby. He clicked his tongue and ran, hurrying towards the noise. Four more darkspawn fell in his wake, and he kicked open the door, finding a woman inside. 

He pulled her by the arm. “Hurry! Run!” 

She scrambled out in a panic and fled, then the king stepped back outside just in time to block another attack. He drove away the hurlock’s sword, then slammed his shield onto its head, knocking it to the ground. His blade pierced its throat, and he didn’t wait, continuing through the village streets, killing any enemies in his way and looking for more survivors in need. The knights did the same, saving as many as they could while also eliminating the opposition. 

A deafening roar joined a clap of thunder as an ogre erupted from a hut. It swung a fist, sending a few knights and fleeing civilians flying a distance away. It snarled and kept swinging, its rampage destroying more homes. Another roar came, and it turned its sights on the golden warrior.

“Great…” Alistair muttered, preparing himself to face the beast’s wrath. 

The ogre stomped to him, punching at his body. With a grunt, Alistair evaded by ducking low, then slashed at its leg. Its blood sprayed the ground, then it angrily swiped again, and this time Alistair wasn’t fast enough. It hit him, sending his helm flying and knocking him down hard. 

“Your Majesty!” Ser Donall called, rushing in to help. 

Still dazed and releasing a curse, Alistair pushed himself to his feet and kept fighting. His knight lieutenant and two more men came to help, slashing at the creature’s legs and side. The ogre roared again, swinging in blind rage. But its injuries were too great, and it fell on one knee. The king took the opportunity, running up and leaping to it. He buried his blade into the monster’s chest, cutting through bone and muscle. The ogre released a painful howl, and it fell with him atop it, black liquid pouring out of its mouth as it gargled and choked on it.

All lingering darkspawn were defeated in minutes, their corpses littering the village-made-battlefield. Some huts still burned and crumbled, but the survivors were happy enough with just being alive. They cheered and hugged, thanking their saviors. Alistair gazed upon the death and destruction with a scowl but found himself relieved to see they’d at least saved what remained. “We’ve won!” he declared, raising his sword to the weeping sky. 

The knights erupted into cheers, also lifting their weapons high.

⚜⚜⚜⚜

The rain had finally stopped by the time it was all over. With his horse grazing beside him, Alistair set his foot on a large rock over a hill overlooking the village. He was waiting for his men to help gather the darkspawn bodies inside and burn them all. He inspected his helm as he held it between both hands. It had a deep dent from when the ogre had stepped over it in its berserk state so there was no way he could wear it again. He blew out a breath, the cut it left on his brow still aching. _Seems I’ll have to go without for now…_

“We’re almost done with the cleanup duty, sire,” said Ser Donall as he approached him. 

“Good… we need to go back to Highever castle and prepare for travel tomorrow. We must send word to the Grey Wardens about this first, however. It seems their work isn’t finished, after all.”

“Yes, sire.”

The gallop of another horse grew closer as a woman in armor made her way to them, drawing their attention. “Your Majesty!” she called, halting the steed a distance before him. She dismounted and went to him, taking a knee and bowing her head. “Your Majesty, I was told by Teyrn Cousland you were here…” 

“You’re one of our royal messengers,” he noted with a lifted eyebrow.

“I am, sire. And I bring an urgent letter.” The girl pulled a folded envelope from her side bag. “It’s from the queen.”

Alistair handed his helm to Donall and promptly took the paper from her. He wasted no time opening it and unfolding the message within. And dread was already gripping at his chest before he even started reading. Whatever prompted Everil to send someone directly to him must have been important. 

_My darling husband,_

_Something terrifying has happened in my ongoing nightmares about that creature and I can no longer sit idly by while it threatens my sanity and that of our child. Therefore, I have decided to gather the Grey Wardens in Vigil's Keep and mount an incursion into the Deep Roads to find it and defeat it. I know this news comes at a difficult time for us, but I am certain that only I can find out what's going on and put an end to it. I will write to you again as soon as I am able._

_Please stay safe out there, my love. I promise to return to the palace as soon as I complete my quest._

_I love you…_

_Your adoring queen._

The king pressed his lips into a line, tension upon his brow. Breathing through the nose, he looked to the east. In the direction of Vigil's Keep.


	9. Battle of Vigil's Keep - Part I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, here's where things get a little more interesting. Hopefully, I haven't lost the interest of some of you with Ferelden's politics lol. Thank you to those who have left me reviews so far! Especially Paul! I'm very grateful for the feedback. Honestly, I thought about not posting the story until after it was finished, as I did with my other three... but I figured I'd to share my journey as I write this from scratch with you guys. I'm sorry if you notice sometimes I have to end up reposting the chapter. As I re-read, I notice mistakes I missed and fix them, but I never change the content. Cheers and I hope you enjoy this one too. - Nardhwen

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_D_ _roplets from last night’s storm fell from_ the treetops and into puddles still drying under the morning sun. Forest critters scampered over the foliage, fleeing from the two women riding through the woods on brown steeds. With a new bow and quiver on her back, Everil kept her stare on the road as she and her escort, Ser Mhairi, trekked north from Denerim to Amaranthine, where the Grey Wardens awaited their arrival in Vigil’s Keep. They hadn’t stumbled into trouble yet, but both of them kept their defenses up nonetheless. 

“Your Majesty…” Ser Mhairi spoke, disrupting the silence between them while staring at Everil’s back from a few steps behind. 

“I’ve told you a few times now, recruit.” Everil smiled over her shoulder at her. “While I’m wearing this uniform, I am no longer your queen. I’m your Warden-Commander.”

“Right… sorry, Commander.” The knight cleared her throat. “So that strange darkspawn in your visions… Do you think the other Wardens have seen it too?”

“I don’t know. My king hasn’t and the others in the order haven’t spoken of it either. All I can say is that it may be something we haven’t seen before.”

“But how can it even reach out to you like that?” Mhairi had on a disturbed expression, her voice riddled with trepidation. “Is that a Grey Warden skill? To be able to see them and communicate with them from afar?”

“I wouldn’t exactly call it communication… We feel them because of our connection to the taint, as a bee would bond with the rest of its hive. Unfortunately, that means they can feel us too.” Everil inhaled, eyebrows meeting at the bridge of her nose. “This is an unusual case, however. The only thing that had enough command over the taint to reach us from afar was the archdemon. Any common darkspawn wouldn’t be able to tap into our minds without being close to us, which brings me to believe that this one is anything but normal.”

“That sounds frightening…” Mhairi muttered uncomfortably.

“It may be… but perhaps it can work in my favor. I can probably use my connection to it to find it.” Everil scowled at the road ahead. “Though, I think it actually wants to be found...”

After traveling several miles more, another night fell over them, enveloping the wilderness in darkness. They set up camp in a small clearing by a flowing stream where their horses could drink and graze. Everil tossed another log into the fire and adjusted the two hares over it before seating on a log beside it. While Mhairi returned from the stream after freshening up, running a wet rag along the side of her neck. The knight gazed at her profile as she approached, then moved to sit on a rock across from her.

Releasing a soft breath, Everil drew her sword and produced a cloth from her bag to polish the blade. She hadn’t used it yet but felt she needed something to busy herself with while they waited for their food to cook.

Mhairi discretely observed her for a moment, watching her methodically drag the cloth over the already polished metal. She’d served under the crown for a few years and despite having been present during the decisive fight against the Blight in Denerim, she hadn’t seen the hero of Ferelden fight first hand. She’d only heard the stories about her skill in battle. How she defeated the mighty archdemon and saved them all that day. The person she’d seen since this woman—someone who was younger than her, no less—ascended to the throne was someone different. Elegant and poised, yet with a fire inside her, lying dormant. 

“It is rude to stare, you know.”

The young knight snapped out of her reverie, blinking a few times, and seeing the teasing smile her queen was directing at her. “Sorry, your Ma—Uhm… Commander. I was just wondering about what it would be like to be a Grey Warden like you.”

Everil lifted her blade, looking at her reflection over it. “It is duty above all else. You are meant to defeat the darkspawn, at any cost. Thus it is expected of you to be willing to sacrifice it all for our cause.”

“But… Why must you be a Grey Warden to do so? What’s so special about you aside from being able to... hear the darkspawn?” 

The commander’s eyes went to her, the question sounding very much like the one she’d asked Alistair before she officially joined the order. A corner of her lips turned up as she sheathed her blade, then reached over to turn the hares once more. “Aside from being able to sense our enemy before they come, the taint grants us immunity. While others may fall prey to it and lose their sanity over time, we maintain our humanity. We can walk in the Deep Roads without fear of becoming blighted, for example. There are other… reasons why we’re instrumental in stopping a Blight, but such things will be revealed to you in time.”

“So long as I can help protect Ferelden from those things…” Mhairi glared at the ground, recalling all the death and destruction the monsters left behind in Denerim two years ago.

A brief silence descended upon them as Everil stared at the burning coals, pinching her eyebrows. It was difficult to be the senior Warden now and know all the secrets while being unable to reveal them—even to one of her most trusted knights. Mhairi was the same as she’d been when she was a recruit, unknowingly walking into what may be certain death. It may even be hypocritical of her to feel guilt over not telling her about everything that was to come and the possibility of her dying during the joining. Especially since she was the one leading her to her fate. 

She inwardly shook her head, trying to dispel the troubling thoughts, and instead focusing on the now. She had to stay strong and follow on Duncan’s footsteps now that she was his replacement. There was yet a chance that she would make it through the Joining and become one of the best Grey Wardens in the order.

“So, if I may ask…” Everil grinned at her. “What made you want to serve in the royal army? I don’t think I know much about you aside from your skill as a warrior.”

Mhairi clasped her hands over her lap, smiling a little at her. “Are you sure you want to hear about me? I’m really not that interesting.”

“Oh, nonsense,” Everil chuckled, leaning forward with elbows on her knees. “You’re one of the few female knights in our military. That alone is interesting enough. Most girls just end up married off to some man to bear him children.” 

A light laugh escaped her. “That was almost my fate, actually. I was to be married off to a trader when I turned sixteen. My parents could barely support themselves so marrying me to a man with a bit of coin would have ensured I was cared for. That’s not what I wanted, however...” 

“And what _did_ you want?”

Mhairi’s eyes strayed as a little color made its way to her cheeks. “I… I wanted to be near nobility. To see what it would be like to live that glamorous life I only heard about in books. Of course, I also wanted to protect those in need, but… being one of those elegant ladies was what called to me the most.”

“Interesting.” Everil rested her chin on one hand, still smiling at the woman from across their campfire. “You sound like me… only in reverse.”

The knight’s brow crinkled. “How so?” 

“As a noble, I was also destined to be married off to some lord… Thankfully, I was stubborn enough to keep my parents from going through with the deals they’d concoct for me.” Everil’s features turned wistful as she spoke of her late mother and father. “I wasn’t fond of the gilded cage I was in as a teyrn’s daughter either. I craved adventure… To live life the way I pleased without the burdens of protocol and without having to keep up appearances.”

“I see…” Mhairi gazed at her with interest, surprised by her confession. “But you returned to that life it seems, Commander.”

“Yes, I did…” Everil let out a humorless chuckle. “My quest against the Blight forced me to grow up and see things differently, I suppose. We all change when circumstances call for it. You left your old life to serve your country… I returned to mine to do the same.” She pushed herself to her feet and bent over to check the hares. “Seems these are done.”

After picking up one of the two meals, Everil handed her the meat, then grabbed her own and sat back down. 

“Thank you…” Mhairi quietly said, looking at the cooked animal before taking a bite out of it. She glanced up at her, seeing her eat carefully while staring at the fire. “May I ask you something, Commander?”

“Sure,” Everil answered with a tiny smile. 

“How exactly do you become a Grey Warden?”

There was a pause as Everil searched for the right words to say, munching away at her dinner. She licked grease from her lips and looked back at her. “You undergo what we call the Joining Ritual.”

Mhairi wrinkled her eyebrows. “And what does it entail?”

“I’m afraid I can’t tell you…” Everil shook her head and sighed. “It’s… sort of a carefully guarded secret. I hope you understand.”

“Ah…” She half-smiled, hiding her disappointment under a brave facade. “Well, I suppose I’ll find out soon enough.”

“Yes… Yes, you will…” was all she could say in response, her gaze downcast.

After eating, they watched the flames flicker and dance for a while longer, enjoying the comfortable silence that stretched out between them. Then Everil yawned loudly and laughed a little, rubbing a tear from her eye. “I guess we had a longer day than I thought…”

“I will pull guard duty, Commander. You can go on to sleep.”

“Wake me when you’re done with your shift this time,” Everil instructed as she rose. “We need to split up the time, else one of us won’t have enough sleep for the long trip tomorrow.”

The knight smiled up at her. “Yes, my lady.”

“Good night, recruit,” Everil said with a dip of the head. 

“Good night.”

The commander spun on her heel and went to the small tent nearby. She had brought nothing extravagant, opting instead to avoid drawing unwanted attention by using only the basic camping gear they’d purchased in Denerim’s marker along with her bow. After opening the flap, Everil entered and went straight to the furs on the ground. She lay over them and let out a sigh, recalling the times in which she’d camped with old friends around her. 

It hadn’t been that long ago, and the memories were still fresh. She still remembered Leliana's lute, Wynne's calming voice, Oghren's and Zevran's jokes and conversations, Shale's rocks grinding when she moved, Sten's grunts, and could still hear Alistair’s chuckles and his occasional bickering with Morrigan.

Thinking of the witch made her heart twist and jealousy reared its ugly head. She and Alistair avoided mentioning her at all costs, skirting around the name every time they reminisced about the ‘good old days’. They hadn't heard from her since the last battle against the archdemon, but she knew the woman she'd once called a friend had to have given birth by now. That meant that somewhere out there, her husband had a bastard child around the same age as their daughter, carrying the soul of an old god, forever unaware of its royal blood. Unless his mother were to break the oath she made to them the night she and the man she loved performed the ritual that saved her life upon the archdemon's defeat. 

Her tired mind continued down the rabbit hole, dwelling on what happened and on what could, until she forcefully put a stop to it, rolling onto her side with a huff and shutting her eyes. _Stop thinking about such nonsense…_

There were bigger problems to worry about in the future, than those that remained in the past. For now.

⚜⚜⚜⚜

  
  


A cool breeze flapped the blue, Grey Warden banners on the battlements surrounding Vigil's Keep. Guards walked them, keeping watch for any dangers out in the woods, while women and children strolled along the streets by the small huts just outside the keep's towering walls. They were the families of the men serving there as soldiers, farmers, and servants of the Grey Wardens presiding over the arling. 

“So the commander’s leaving the palace and coming to join us grunts.” Sitting on a barrel with an arm propped up, Julius set his ale mug down on the one beside him and wiped the foam from his mouth. He and other Wardens gathered in the tavern inside the fortress, a wide room with a burning fire in a corner. Other soldiers ate and drank all around, but kept their distance from the warriors clad in silver and blue.

“Yes. She should be here in a few days. She wants to see the state of the keep, then we will march to the Deep Roads.” Elias leaned back in his chair at the table nearby, resting his feet on it and folding his arms. “The darkspawn she’s been having frequent nightmares about seems to have struck a nerve this time.”

“How are we supposed to find one out of the thousands down there?” Brielle questioned, a cheek on one hand as she absently circled her mug with a finger. “And we don’t even have enough men to storm those darkspawn-infested tunnels. We barely make up a solid unit. Her idea just sounds insane to me…”

“What's that, _chérie_? Are you scared?” Julius teased with a grin.

“I'm just saying that going on a wild goose chase with no idea about where that thing could possibly be is crazy. We don’t even know if it exists, for Andraste’s sake.” She turned to the newer Wardens standing or sitting around them. “Have any of you seen a strange darkspawn wearing a golden mask? Because I haven’t.” 

The others shook their heads or muttered their answers.

“See?” She returned her eyes to Elias. “None of us have seen it. For all we know, the commander could be mistaken.”

“It's not our place to question her orders, Brielle. And you should know better.” Elias sent her and the others an annoyed look. “We will follow the commander wherever she takes us—to an archdemon's lair if we must. The vestments you all wear represent our commitment to battle the darkspawn, no matter the front. So what if her Majesty's quest is hard or near impossible? We're killing more of those wretched creatures along the way and that is all that matters.”

“I like the way you think…’

Their heads spun to a dwarf drinking ale at a table a short distance from them. He had a thick, red mustache braided down and around a fat chin, and short hair tousled. His iron armor had some wear in places, signs of past battles fought. And the great axe strapped at his back shone with the firelight, the edge visibly sharp and well maintained. 

“That doesn’t look like one of the dwarves working the mine…” said one of the male elven Wardens standing near Brielle. 

“Name’s Oghren,” said the dwarf, grinning drunkenly at them. “I came over to join you lot but got sidetracked when I stumbled upon this little watering hole…”

“You came to join our order, you say?” Elias asked, arching an eyebrow. 

“Aye.” Oghren knocked his drink back, then let out a belch that made Brielle grimace in disgust. He wiped his mustache and sent them a critical look. “But it seems some of you’re all a bunch of sissies. I’m a bit disappointed, actually. Must be because you’re from that Orlais place—sissy-land.”

“Hey…” Julius got off his seat, scowling in umbrage. “Watch your mouth, dwarf.”

“I wasn’t the one bitchin’ about going into the Deep Roads.” He chuckled gruffly. “I’ve been there myself, ya know. Went with none other than the hero of Ferelden herself. It’s almost kinda cozy once you get past the darkspawn stench and the occasional giant spider.”

Brielle gave him an irritated glare. “You’re a dwarf… that you went underground doesn’t surprise me. But what’s this about the hero of Ferelden? Don’t tell me you know the commander.”

“Oh, I know her, sweet cheeks. Even helped her bring down the archdemon. I can tell you all about it in the sack if you’d like.” 

“Ugh…” The elf glowered at him. “No, thanks.”

Oghren drank some more, ignoring her dismissal, then leaned over with a hand on a knee as he spoke through a snicker. “I met her in Orzammar when she and Warden Alistair were out looking for dwarven support against the Blight. King Harrowmont sent her on a search for our lost paragon in the Deep Roads in exchange for his help, and I came along. It was just six of us goin’ in—an old mage, a mabari, a golem, me, and the only two Grey Wardens left in these parts.”

He eyed each Warden as they listened, his grin broadening. “She led us through those tunnels, through ancient thaigs infested with those monsters, and into one of their breeding grounds. We fought our way through ‘em, killing anything that got in the way. Even one of those brood mothers and its miserable spawn.” He sat up, gesturing to himself. “And look at pretty ol’ me… sitting right here tellin’ you about it. All thanks to your boss lady.”

Julius folded his arms. “Hrmph… I’d say there is a bigger chance it’s because you’re lying, instead.” 

“Don’t believe me then.” Oghren shrugged and waved the only barmaid over for another round. “But I’ll bet you’ll feel pretty stupid when she gets here, and then you’ll owe me a few pints.”

With a hand on his bearded chin, Elias’ blue eyes scrutinized him. “If you’re speaking the truth… Then you must be quite skilled in battle yourself.”

Oghren sent him a sideways smirk. “Does a dog lick its balls?” 

“Charming…” Brielle muttered, revolted.

It was then that a thousand voices came rushing into the Wardens’ minds like a wave crashing against the rocks, causing every one of them to stiffen and freeze on the spot. For a moment, they exchanged confused glances, as if unsure of what they were hearing. Then blood-curdling screams came from outside the tavern windows, joined by the sound of weapons clashing, growing louder as the pull of the taint became stronger. 

Without a word, Elias shot to his feet and he and the other Wardens hurried out the door, while Oghren slammed down his pint and went after them. The surrounding soldiers did the same. They ran through the halls, following the noise and the chanting in their heads. “By the Maker...” Elias breathed as they came to a stop atop the tall flight of stairs overlooking the entire lower levels of the keep.

Darkspawn were quickly swarming the grounds, killing anything and anyone in their wake as the guards struggled to stop them. A soldier in the battlements sounded the bell of alarm while several prepared their bows and mounted the ballista. They opened fire, raining arrows upon the enemy as hurlocks, genlocks, and ogres trampled over the field, all heading towards the keep’s main fortress. 

To them.

“What in the… Where in the Maker did they come from!” Julius shouted, staring at the incoming nightmare in shock.

“Why didn’t we sense them before!” Brielle asked in near panic.

“I don’t know, but we have to stop them!” Elias drew his sword, glancing at his fellow Wardens. “Don’t let them in or the keep falls!”

The Grey Wardens ran down the steps as the soldiers behind them followed with a resounding battle cry. Weapons clashed as men and monsters flooded the battlefield. Darkspawn blood soiled the ground as arrows and spears pierced through their numbers. But despite many of them falling to the keep’s men, they continued their advance.

Grunting through gritted teeth, Elias blocked a hit with his shield, then drove his blade into a hurlock’s gut. He deflected another’s axe and slammed his shield against it before slashing across its chest. Several more came after him, swinging their weapons at the same time. He blocked them all, the force making him take several steps back. He roared, shoving their weapons aside, then struck at one of them while another managed to land a slash on his arm.

“Die!” Oghren roared, chopping off a hurlock’s leg, then bringing it back around to cut off its head. 

One of the Wardens cried out and fell when a jagged sword slashed open his side. 

“Brinley!” Brielle yelled upon seeing him, releasing an arrow and hitting a genlock between the eyes. She rushed to his side, drawing her dagger to block the hurlock’s finishing blow. She ducked, kicking its feet from underneath it before driving her blade into its chest. Without pause, she went to her fellow Warden, grabbing him by the arm as he held his wound. 

An ogre broke through several soldiers, then slammed its fist down, crushing three under its might. Another thunderous roar came from the back as two more moved through their brethren. One went down, shot by one of the ballistae on the battlements above.

A genlock archer fired an arrow, hitting Julius on the shoulder and making him stagger back. He cursed and swung his greatsword as a hurlock raised its weapon at it, severing its arms before driving his weapon into its torso. “We have to fall back!” he yelled to Elias as he struggled to block multiple hits.

The senior looked about the battlefield, seeing a few other Wardens dead and several more soldiers being massacred around them. They needed to use the fortifications and hope to defeat them from the inside. Otherwise, all would be lost. 

“Fall in and close the gates! Hurry!” he roared over the noise. 

The surviving Grey Wardens and what was left of the men ran in, while Oghren chased after them, grunting an expletive. The gates shut with a resounding bang while the darkspawn slammed against them, trying to break through. They wouldn’t hold forever but they’d bought themselves some time.

⚜⚜⚜⚜

Light from the rising sun filtered in through the windows in Highever castle’s great hall as the clanking of metal plates and heavy footsteps echoed within. The rays reflected off of Alistair armor as he walked beside Fergus, this time wearing the crown upon his brow in place of the helm he lost the night before. They headed for the courtyard, where their detachment of soldiers awaited them along with their knights. 

“Are you certain you don’t want to go see her, sire? It’s only a two day’s travel from here if we hurry and cut through the mountains,” Fergus said to the king, geared in silverite plate armor, with a sword at his hip and a shield with Highever’s coat of arms at his back. 

Alistair sighed miserably. “Oh, trust me, I want to. Maker, I haven’t seen her in months and I miss her with every fiber of my being. But it would be irresponsible of me to just go to her with everything that’s happening in the Bannorn.” He furrowed his brow, an uncomfortable feeling in his chest. Her letter had spoken of her dreams getting worse, but she didn’t go into detail as to what that meant. He figured the reasoning behind the vague message was that she didn’t want him to worry, but that only worsened the dread clutching his heart. 

“Well… I’m sure she will be all right,” Fergus tried to reassure him, but he knew it wouldn’t help much. His sister’s skills were exceptional and she was more than capable of taking care of herself, but even he couldn’t help being worried. He’d lost everyone he loved. She and his niece were all he had left.

Their horses were ready for them when they exited the castle, and they rode out the gates while the men followed them, carrying the king’s heraldry and that of Highever. They traveled through main streets, passing by the villagers as they bowed to the king. Some whispered questions to each other, wondering why their teyrn would take a portion of their men and leave his castle to ride off with their monarch. 

They were leaving the town and crossing the Imperial Highway over the grassy fields when a small caravan caught their attention. Some families traveled on wagons pulled by a few horses, carrying boxes and bags that seemed to contain what little they had. One woman held a baby in her arms as it cried, while other children held on to their mothers. They were all covered in dirt and sweat, a few carrying cuts and scrapes.

“It-It’s the king!” The man leading the caravan alerted those in the back, his once blonde hair a mess of knots and mud. He yanked on his horse’s reins, leading the animal off the highway to make way for the king and his retinue. Everyone behind him did the same, halting on the side of the road.

Alistair eyed them worriedly, taking in their condition as they came closer. There was fear in their stare, and their slouched shoulders and sunken cheeks spoke of fatigue and sleepless nights. If they were afraid of him, he wasn’t sure. But he’d seen those faces many times before during the Blight. 

“I wonder what happened to them… Was another one of my villages attacked?” Fergus voiced his question with concern. 

“Let’s ask,” Alistair replied and raised a fist, commanding their forces to a halt. He kicked his horse into motion and galloped ahead of his knights while Fergus went after him. “Hey!” he called to them, riding to the family at the very front. 

“Come on, rise!” The husband grabbed his wife and children, making them stand, but the king’s swift command stopped them. 

“It’s fine!” Alistair gestured with one hand. “There’s no need for that, please. What happened to you? Do you need help?”

Swallowing nervously, the man glanced at his family, then back at him. “We… We’re traveling from Amaranthine, your Majesty. Vigil’s Keep is under siege by darkspawn. We barely made it out. We feared they’d eventually hit the city if the keep falls, so we just took our things and fled here as quickly as we could. Others weren’t so lucky to make that choice...”

“What?” Shocked, Fergus came closer. “The keep is under siege? What of the Grey Wardens?”

“Those... monsters came from out of nowhere and swarmed everything! I think even the Grey Wardens were caught by surprise because everyone was scrambling. We don’t know if they still live, but they were fighting tooth and nail when we left.” He shuddered, visibly terrified. “Maker, I’m just a cook. I needed to get my family out of there, and there were too many of them…”

“Alistair…” The teyrn’s head snapped in his brother-in-law’s direction, alarmed by the news. 

Hurled into a stupor, Alistair remained speechless for a moment, the dread from before tightening its hold and suffocating him. Everil’s letter had to have taken a couple of weeks to reach him, which meant she was already on her way to Vigil’s Keep by the time he received it. She could have already arrived at the keep and was possibly fighting along with the other Wardens or she was about to walk into a battlefield without warning and without a party to help her. 

His jaw set and he gripped the reins before whirling his steed about to yell at his men, “Change of plans! We ride to Amaranthine right now!”

They adjusted course as he commanded, this time kicking their mounts into a trot while the men picked up the pace at the rear. Alistair kept his determined stare on the way east, pulse drumming anxiously in his head. It would take them two days to get to her. Two days that would feel like an eternity in damnation.


	10. Battle of Vigil's Keep - Part II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! Finally! The actual start to Awakening! LOL Okay, just so you're aware, I may have somewhat changed the layout of Vigil's Keep as I wrote, but it wasn't by much. I also upscaled the enemy count, mainly because I believe it would have realistically taken more enemies than what you fight in the game to overwhelm the keep, surprise attack or no. I also wanted to let you know I have HUGE plans for Alistair in the coming chapters ;), that's about all I'm going to tell you. There will still be WardenxAlistair interactions (unlike in the game... =_=), though they may not be the way you expect.
> 
> I hope you enjoy this next one. Please drop me a review, comments, or suggestions. I love hearing from people and it just lets me know there's a genuine interest in me continuing the work. A SPECIAL thank you to the awesome person who reviewed! You made me smile. :) Cheers! - Nardhwen

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_ S _ _ moke and ash veiled the rising moon as fires _ raged within the keep, their ravenous appetite devouring the wooden huts therein. The gallop of horses neared the front gates as Everil and Mhairi approached, halting just outside to gaze upon the destruction that lay beyond. Shock befell the Warden-Commander as she stared at those rising plumes, her horse neighing nervously under the glare of the flames as the distant sound of clashing blades and dying screams reached their ears.

“Maker, they’re under attack…!” Mhairi breathed in disbelief, her expression emulating hers. 

Everil pressed her lips into a line as dark voices scrapped at her skull. The same ones that haunted her each night and spoke of the unadulterated evil prowling the keep’s grounds. She could sense them. A multitude of them. “Darkspawn…” she bit out, glaring steadfastly at the ruins while drawing her blade. “Come on! We have to help the Wardens!” 

Mhairi armed herself without question. “Yes, Commander!”

Their horses kicked into motion and they stormed the battlefield, where bodies of both soldiers and innocents peppered the area, torn limb from limb, their entrails smeared over the dirt and hanging from wooden fences surrounding their burning homes. Ten or so hurlocks and genlocks snarled and cackled from their place atop the stairs ahead, by the broken gates leading further in. A hurlock roared, and they ran to the women, their bloodied weapons raised.

Everil narrowed her stare as she readied Elethea, intent on giving it another, long-awaited taste of darkspawn flesh. She slashed and a hurlock’s head flew from its body while her horse plowed through several more. She veered her steed, swinging at the next, then parrying an axe to thrust into one’s eye, the edge bursting out the back of its skull as if it were a melon. The horse kicked at a genlock’s chest, sending it tumbling back before its rider again pulled on its reins, swiping at two more enemies. 

Driving a sword away, Mhairi dismounted and ran with a cry as her steel plates clanked loudly. She deflected a genlock’s axe, then whirled around, slashing its neck. She thrust, stabbing another through the chest, then slammed her shield against a hurlock coming from the side. Her foot pressed to the dead genlock, and she yanked her weapon free before spinning again, cutting the hurlock’s torso and sending its fluids spraying the already bloodied ground.

Whining loudly, Everil’s horse stood on its hind legs and brought its weight upon two monsters, crushing their ribcage. And seeing they were beginning to surround them, Everil hopped off, kicking a hurlock that got too close. Her blade moved like the wind, slashing the opposition with ease as she weaved her way through.

A group of four ran at her and she confidently met them half-way, sky-blue eyes sharp as steel. She ducked, dodging a sideways slash. She thrust up, stabbing through a hurlock’s jaw. Her hand shot out, catching one’s wrist, then she freed her blade from its friend and drove it into its gut. She kicked the third across the face, then slashed its trachea apart. As she turned, she drew her dagger from her hip, and spun on one foot, avoiding a stab from the forth and impaling it in the heart.

From a distance away, Mhairi cut down a genlock as a deafening roar shook her to the core, drawing her attention to an ogre coming from within the gates. It jumped from the top of the stairs, crashing heavily and sending rock and soil exploding in all directions. It snarled at them and roared again, both fists buried in the cracked earth beneath it. And it charged, leading with its horns, going straight for the Warden-Commander. 

“Commander!” she yelled, making a run for her.

But Everil held her ground, unafraid, sheathing her dagger, then flipping her sword so the pommel faced the incoming beast. At the last second, she rolled out of its way, landed on a knee, then slashed as it rushed past her, cutting its thigh and severing muscle, tendons, and scraping bone. The ogre howled, stumbling in pain and gushing black. The Warden moved before it could recover. She leaped with a cry, holding her blade with both hands before impaling the ogre’s spine. 

It roared again, then Everil drove her dagger into its shoulder blade and twisted, lacerating a lung. The beast coughed up blood and fell forward with a slam. Panting for breath and with her pulse racing, Everil retrieved both blades from the body and rose, turning to Mhairi while covered in darkspawn blood and with her cloak flowing at her back.

_ Maker's breath…  _ thought the knight whilst she stared in astonishment at her queen’s imposing presence.  _ She really is the hero of Ferelden… _

“There’s a lot more of them inside and it sounds like there are survivors still fighting.” Everil hopped off the dead ogre and hastily strode to her, swinging her weapons clean before sheathing them. She walked past while patting her arm, going for the stairs. “Come. We need to make it to them, organize what’s left, and drive these bastards out.”

“H-How could this have happened?” Mhairi questioned as she followed her. “Vigil's Keep is one of the most resilient fortifications in Ferelden! They couldn’t have just as easily broken through the front gates like this!”

“I don't know, but I intend to find out.” Everil quickly climbed the steps, hands closed into fists. This hadn’t been what she’d expected would greet her in their base of operations. And that the darkspawn were here, attacking their sworn enemy head-on, spoke of boldness she hadn’t thought them capable of before.

They approached the broken doors, finding more enemies crowded the bailey. Hurlocks emerged from the blacksmith’s work area and the burning shops around them, accompanied by more of their dwarfed brethren and blocking their advance to the next set of gates leading into the keep itself. The Warden drew her blade again and kicked forth while her recruit went after her. Their blades met with those of their enemy, defeating them one by one as they broke through their lines. In moments, the monsters lay dead at their feet and Everil kept moving without looking back.

They hurried to the great iron gate, seeing it was forced apart from the outside, possibly by an ogre. Without stalling, they climbed the steps into the keep’s courtyard, where more mangled bodies lay all around, so torn apart, they couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began. The scent of blood and smoke saturated the air around them, while the sound of fighting echoed from deeper in.

“They were overwhelmed…” Mhairi pointed out, unable to believe her eyes. “But… how? Wouldn’t the Wardens sense them coming? Perhaps even mount better defenses?”

“Something else is happening here…” Everil said as she began to walk to the other side. “There’s too many of them for this to be a simple raid. Only a Blight can organize these bastards into a somewhat capable army.”

“But this isn’t a Blight!” She tailed her, furrowing her brow as fear gripped her. “What could possibly be leading them! And how are we supposed to break through their numbers and reach any survivors? It’s just the two of us!”

Hearing the panic in her voice, Everil stopped, turning to her. Their situation was difficult, but she needed to regain control of the keep at any cost. “Calm down. It may just be us for now, but we should be able to fight our way through them if we’re careful. We need not kill them all, we just need to find what’s leading them and defeat it. That should disperse their numbers and let us dispatch what’s left.”

“Right…” Mhairi took in a deep breath. “I’m with you, Commander.”

They continued on, reaching the center of the courtyard while glancing up at the railing overlooking their location below. Until an ear-splitting shriek brought them to a halt.

Mhairi winced at the noise. “What in the—”

Five shapes burst into existence around them, slashing at them with daggers at their wrists. Everil barely had enough time to block, and her eyes went wide upon seeing her attacker. The creature opened monstrous maws as it screamed at her face, its ears sharp as an elf’s over a bald head. It was a shriek—a darkspawn born from an elf-made-brood mother. With a cry of her own, she shoved it away and slashed, but it leaped back, nimble and fast, easily avoiding her attack.

Mhairi grunted as she blocked multiple hits with her shield, the creatures forcing her to back up a few steps. She swung, barely grazing one as it jumped away from her. It then shot forth, shrieking again as it struck. Mahiri ducked and thrust, driving her sword into its gut. The next one lunged at her, grazing her shield as sparks flew. “Damn these things!” she bit out.

Rolling to one side, Everil evaded a slash and swung, slitting open a shriek’s middle. Two others ran at her with impressive speed, forcing her to block with both sword and dagger before one kicked at her stomach, knocking her back. She brought her blades up again, deflecting their hits, then kicked at their legs, dropping one of them. She hopped and landed on it, stabbing it through the chest, then whirled up, deflecting a hit from its brethren before slashing back around, slitting its throat. 

Several roars came as the shrieks’ cries summoned more darkspawn from inside the fort. Hurlocks and genlocks burst through the door past the gate and sped their way. 

“Damn it!” Everil withdrew a few steps, then deflected a strike. She crouched, dodging a slash, then cut across a hurlock’s chest. They dropped a few more, but they were at their limit. 

“Need some help, ladies?” came a heroic male voice from above them just as raging flames erupted from around them and engulfed their enemies. 

The two women moved closer to each other, trying to avoid being caught in the blaze as scorching heat kissed their faces. The scent of sulfur invaded their nostrils as the creatures burned, their cries sharp as nails over glass. Just as quickly as they came, the flames disappeared, and the bodies crumbled, still cooking and never to rise again.

Swallowing the acrid taste the burning flesh left behind, Everil craned her head up, spotting a man in blue robes behind the railing. He was smiling at them through mischievous brown eyes, his golden hair pulled into a ponytail and away from a handsome, angular face that held a five-o'clock shadow around a pointed jaw. 

“A mage…” Mhairi uttered beside her. 

“That’s right! I’m a mage. Did my fashionable skirts give me away?” He smirked and casually descended the steps to them. 

“You don’t look like a Grey Warden. Are you a recruit?” Everil asked, watching him approach while sheathing her blades.

“No, my fair lady…” He took her hand in his and gave her knuckles a kiss before flashing her a charming smile. “My name is Anders. I am what you would call… an apostate.”

Everil withdrew her hand from his, a hint of annoyance in her stare. “My name is Everil, Warden-Commander of Ferelden. This is Mhairi, my recruit.”

“Ah… It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” 

“An apostate…” Mhairi scrutinized him with an arched eyebrow. “What’s an apostate doing in Vigil’s Keep?” 

He crossed his arms, also eyeing her head to toe. “Oh, some of my templar ‘bodyguards’ decided it would be a good idea for us to take a little break here while on our way to the Circle of Magi. As you can see, it didn’t quite work out the way they planned.”

“And where are those templars now?” Everil pressed, hands on her hips.

“They’re dead. Up there.” He gestured with his thumb over a shoulder at the rail above. “Got done in by the darkspawn. Nasty way to go.”

“And I’m sure you’re as innocent as a butterfly…” Mhairi muttered, narrowing her eyes at him. “Are you sure it was the darkspawn that did it and not one of your spells?”

His smile faltered at her accusation. “Yes, darling, I didn’t do it. Honest. You can go have a look yourself if you want. I may use magic, but no spell in my repertoire can leave corpses  _ that _ mangled. I almost felt sorry for the poor bastards.”

“We don't have time to discuss what he did or didn't do right now,” Everil cut in sternly.

Mhairi glanced at her, then glared at Anders, who regarded the Warden with a cocky smirk. “True. We have to free the keep from these beasties, yes? I’ll come along.”

“Good. I was about to ask you to, anyway. Let’s go.” Everil whirled about, stepping over the charred bodies of their enemies.

“Yes, Commander.” The knight walked after her as the mage also followed. 

⚜⚜⚜⚜

Panting for breath, Everil made haste through the hallways, searching for survivors, yet finding only bodies along the way. More darkspawn blocked their path, crowding every room as she and her two companions fought through their numbers. They had yet to stumble upon any Grey Wardens still alive.

“This way!” she yelled while striking through multiple foes. 

Anders and Mhairi continued to tail her, also breathing heavily as they ran.

The three of them burst through a door, entering a wide, open area where a bloodied servant cowered in a corner. 

“There’s one!” Anders yelled, pointing with a finger. 

Darkspawn stalked toward the man, cackling excitedly at their next kill. One raised its nightmarish blade, preparing to bring death on him. An arrow flew, hitting it in the back and causing it to stagger forward. It turned around, just in time for another arrow to embed itself into its skull. With a wail, it fell, and the others around it ran at the newcomers. 

Everil lowered her bow and drew her blades, dropping into her fighting stance as she waited for them to come. She ducked, evading a strike, then slashed, gutting the first hurlock. Beside her, Mhairi blocked with her shield, then drove the creature’s weapon away to slash at its neck. Behind them, magic churned and electricity shot forth, shocking the remaining enemies.

“Run!” Anders yelled at the frightened survivor as he ran up to him, grabbing him by the shirt and shoving him. “Get out of here, now!”

“Y-Yes, ser!” the servant stammered, limping away. 

They didn’t linger. The Warden kept moving on quick feet, following the pull of the taint to the next room, from where they could hear more fighting. A man’s roar reached their ears as they stormed into what looked like a sitting area with a few bookshelves, finding inside multiple more foes. Surprised blues went to a dwarf in iron armor battling over a raised floor, his massive axe chopping them to pieces without effort. 

“O-Oghren!” Everil called to him, drawing his attention and that of the monsters closest to them.

He killed the hurlock in front of him, then shot her a wide, drunken grin. “Everil! About sodding time you showed up!”

The darkspawn ran at them, and the party of three engaged them. Everil leaned sideways, dodging a stab, then thrust through the creature’s chest. The others easily dispatched the rest.

Oghren rested his axe over a shoulder, laughing hoarsely as he approached the railing. “I was telling these shitheads earlier ‘you just wait until the Warden-Commander gets here’ and here you are! Ready to kick arse and take back the keep!”

“Do you know him, Commander?” Mhairi asked quizzically.

“Yes. He’s an old friend.” Everil smiled, nearing the dwarf. “Maker, it’s good to see you, Oghren. What are you doing in Vigil’s Keep?” 

“Looking to become a Grey Warden, actually. Figured I’d try my hand at it since I had so much fun with you back in the day…” He snickered, then directed a lecherous smirk at the knight. “Oh… Who’s the babe with the great rack? A friend of yours? Mind introducing us…?”

Mhairi curled her nose in disgust. “Not one for manners, I see…”

“These are Mahiri and Anders. We can do the rest of the introductions later.” Everil tilted her head toward the next room. “Let’s go kill more of those bastards.”

“Aye!” Oghren jumped off the raised floor and rotated his neck. “Right behind ya!”

The Warden-Commander led them deeper in. More black blood stained the fort as they eliminated any enemies in their wake. Everil defeated a shriek, cutting its cries short before rushing past its corpse.  _ Where are the Wardens…? Where’s Elias? _

__ The sound of more weapons colliding lured them from another doorway. Everil kicked open the door, and they hurried in, following a long corridor as the cries and strikes of metal hitting metal grew louder. They rounded the corner and stopped, her eyes going wide upon seeing who was fighting a group of darkspawn before them. “Elias!”

He killed the last hurlock just as he heard her call, his dazed eyes going to her. Panting for air, he held onto the bleeding injury on his side and slid down the wall, leaving a trail of crimson over the stone. “Commander…” he wheezed and coughed, watching her run to him.

“Elias… Oh, Maker.” She knelt beside him, a hand on his shoulder as she sadly took in his many wounds. He wouldn’t last long. “Blast it…! I should have gotten here sooner!”

Elias shook his head, shivering through cold sweats. “No, my lady… Better you hadn’t… else you would have probably ended up like us.”

“How did this happen?” she questioned, almost forcefully.

“The darkspawn… came from underground… I think...” He gulped and licked pale lips, trying to focus on her face, yet his eyelids were growing heavy. “They surprised us… We couldn’t sense them… Didn’t see them coming… The others… They...”

She cupped his cheek. “Stay with me... What about the other Wardens?”

“The Wardens that survived the first assault were taken at the command of a… Of a talking darkspawn…! I couldn’t stop them… I tried…” He coughed, red trickling from the corner of his lips. “They almost… took me too… I fought back the best I could…”

Everil’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean a talking darkspawn…?”

“There’s no way… The lad must be delirious,” muttered Oghren.

“I’m not…” Elias sent him a weak glare. “I know what I saw... Had we… not gotten separated, you would have seen it too, dwarf…!” He drew in a quivering breath and looked towards the door at the end of the hallway. “It’s out there... That way… It was going after the seneschal. You must help him.”

The commander pressed her lips into a tense line and gazed in the same direction. Her men were all gone, which meant she was the last Warden left in the keep. Once again, she was facing adversity with only a few hands to help her. And this time, it seemed it was against an enemy smarter than those she faced before. 

“I will stop it...” she swore, giving her fellow Warden a firm look. “And then I will find the others.”

Elias put on a rare, yet weak smile, his bloodied hand coming to rest over hers. “I know you will... Com… mander…” His last words were a fleeting whisper as his eyes slid shut, his arm dropping to his side.

Everil stared at him for a few seconds, anger rising within her. This man had been her right hand while she was sitting in that palace, enjoying its luxuries. He handled matters for her, kept her informed on everything happening within these walls, and never once questioned an order, even while she’d not given it in person. She trusted him, and now he was dead.

“Damn them…” She rose to her feet and glared at the way forward. “Come on. Whatever this darkspawn is, it’ll die just like the others.”

“Just lead the way, Commander,” Mhairi said firmly. 

“Right. Let’s teach these things a lesson,” Anders added with a smirk, gripping his staff.

They resumed their run to the end of the hallway, heading for a door leading to the outside. The night skies were still alight with the fires coming from the huts below as she and her party moved along the towering wall. And it wasn’t long before they spotted more enemies on the roof, overlooking the rest of the keep. A bloodied, older man in armor went to his knees as a hurlock held its jagged blade to his throat. A taller hurlock gazed at him, wearing chain armor and a cowl over its head. A sword and shield hung from its back, stained in red. 

“Others will come, creature!” they heard the seneschal shout as they approached. 

The hurlock turned its gray eyes to the Warden and her party, its expression neutral. “Ah… It seems your words be true…” it said, its voice rough as sand. “More than you are guessing.”

“It  _ is  _ talking!” Anders exclaimed, smiling in wonder. 

“Well, let’s shut it up already!” Oghren grouched, drawing his great axe.

The seneschal gazed hopefully at her. “Commander…”

“What are you?” Everil demanded with a frigid glare toward the speaking darkspawn, aiming her blade at it. “Why is it you’re able to talk?”

“Grey Wardens pretend to understand our kind, but you understand nothing.” It let out a light, gruff chuckle, showing sharp teeth. “I am called The Withered, and that be all you are to know.”

She clenched her jaw at its answer. “No, you bastard. That’s not all I am to know. Why did you attack the keep! Where did you take my fellow Wardens!”

“Your answers will not come even as you ask.” It pulled a horn from its waist and blew, the sound echoing throughout the entire fortress and beyond. It craned its head as more of its kind came from one side and gathered around it, staring at them and awaiting its command. It drew its arms, setting its sights on her. “Capture the Grey Warden… The others can be killed.”

“Go ahead and try!” Everil dashed to it, her cloak moving behind her. She slashed across a hurlock’s chest, then stabbed another in the gut, kicked it off her, then took down the next, carving her way to The Withered as her party engaged the rest of their enemies. 

It roared and struck downward, their blades meeting with a thunderous clash, then it drove her sword away, metal screeching against metal. She ducked, dodging a horizontal slash, then brought her arm up, covering her head as it slammed its shield against her. She rolled with the hit, shot up, and swung with both hands. It deflected her attack. And their weapons clashed again, and again, the Warden seeking an opening, yet finding none.

_ This thing… It’s better than any darkspawn I ever fought!  _ Everil’s blues widened, and she leaned, dodging a diagonal hit. She went low, kicking its feet from underneath it. With a cry, she ran at it, bringing her sword upon it, only to hit the ground when it moved out of the way. It swung as it rose, giving her barely enough time to block and knocking up her sword arm. Its leg came next, slamming onto her chest, sending her onto her back. 

Everil rolled to her feet and shot forth, their blades meeting once more, swinging and striking in a deadly dance as they fought for dominance. 

A roaring Oghren swung his axe, decapitating a genlock before blocking a hurlock’s sword. He shoved at it and disarmed the creature, then he swung again, gutting it before its innards poured out of it. He ran to the next, ignoring their increasing numbers as the enemies within the keep responded to their leader’s call. 

The bailey below filled with dark shapes as those remaining in the lower levels also emerged from hiding. 

“Damn it!” Everil bit out, sore, and breathing heavily as she continued her assault on her adversary. 

“You cannot defeat this one!” It struck at her blade, knocking it from her hands before ramming her chest with its shield. 

She fell with an oomph, her ribs protesting under the abuse. Grabbing her sword again, Everil darted to her feet, charging at it with a cry. It blocked and twisted, letting her stumble forward, then its knee came up, connecting with her solar plexus and robbing her of air. 

It kicked her again, its armored boot like a hammer to her side, drawing a grunt out of her and sending her tumbling over the floor.

“Commander!” Mhairi called, struggling against the darkspawn surrounding her and their two other companions.

Coughing and struggling to breathe, Everil shakily pushed herself to arms and knees and glared at it, gripping Elethea’s hilt. 

“You will come gently now, Warden.” The Withered stepped towards her and grabbed her by the throat, effortlessly lifting her. 

“Curse you…” she bit out, staring hatefully at its soulless eyes. How could it have defeated her? How could its skills be better than her own? All she could think about was her exhaustion from all the fighting. The enemy outnumbered them and there was not a damn thing she could do to save the others. 

The snap of several bowstrings reached their ears before a wave of arrows descended upon the crowding monsters, impaling multiple of them and dispersing their numbers. The Withered looked towards its falling brethren, then both it and its captive gazed at the grounds below. A small army of knights and soldiers were engaging the darkspawn attempting to enter the keep, while a row of archers stood in a perfect line, all armed with longbows.

A single knight sat on a white horse before the men. He lowered his sword as he glared up at them through sharpened ambers, clad in golden armor and with a crown upon his brow, his purple cloak moving with the breeze.

Surprise dawned on Everil’s features, her heart soaring.  _ Alistair…? _

The king turned to the men engaged in battle with the monsters, shouting his command, “Storm the keep and kill every darkspawn in sight! Don’t let them flee!”

“Aye!” Those not fighting ran through the gate, charging without question along with the knights. They were men and women, all wielding the royal seal or Highever’s coat of arms upon their shields and armor.

Taking The Withered’s stupor as an opportunity, Everil kneed it in the stomach, making it release its hold on her. She slashed its chest and kicked it across the face, knocking it down. She strode to it, then thrust, burying her sword into its heart as it gasped, staring at her in shock. 

“I will find my men, you bastard,” she hissed and pushed her sword further in. “And whatever drove you here!”

It chuckled hoarsely, a laugh that faded as it bled and died. Seeing their leader gone, what remained of the darkspawn stopped fighting and ran back the way they came. But the king’s men waited for them within those halls, thus not one of them made it back into the deep.


	11. Reunion

⚜

  
  
  
  


_I_ _t didn’t take long for the king’s forces_ to clear the keep and save what remained of the survivors hiding throughout the fortress. The scent of blood and smoke still clung to the air around them, but a sense of calm returned to the hallways. Some soldiers helped carry the wounded to the makeshift med bay on the first floor, where they cared for them using elfroot and other remedies. Others took the dead outside, where they laid them upon the ground, wrapped in sheets, and awaiting a proper ceremony. Most would likely be burned or buried in mass graves if there were no families to claim them.

A saddened Everil carried Elias’ body on her back from the top floor. She and her party were making their way down along with the seneschal, who had a similar expression to hers after seeing the damage the darkspawn left in their wake. As they entered the keep’s courtyard, two soldiers approached the group, offering to help carry her deceased Warden friend. “Handle him with care…” she uttered, letting them take his limp form from her.

“Of course, my lady,” one of them had said before they carried him away to where the rest of the dead lay. 

Sighing wearily, Everil kept walking after them to the gates as several more men ran past them to perform their assigned duties. All had darkspawn blood and dirt over them, but they didn’t seem to mind. They descended the steps to the bailey where more men worked on putting out most of the blazes using buckets of water drawn from the well.

Everil stopped the moment she stepped outside, spotting the three men standing a distance away, their backs to her.

“Isn’t that the king?” Anders asked behind the Warden-Commander, looking on from where they stood. “What’s he doing all the way out here? Not that I’m complaining...”

“The fires are almost completely extinguished, sire,” Ser Donall informed the king, standing before him. “However, burning the darkspawn bodies will probably take the rest of the night and most of the morning.”

“Well, we knew we would not leave here anytime soon,” Fergus said, a hand casually resting on his sword’s hilt.

“I understand it’s hard work, but we need to get rid of them or their tainted blood will corrupt the soil,” Alistair added grimly, arms folded over his chest. “And we _really_ don’t want that. We already have enough problems with the blighted lands in the south.”

“Right. We’ll assign people on rotation to bring those things out and turn them to ash. That will give the men some time to rest after the long trip here and—” Ser Donall’s gaze shifted to something over the king’s shoulder. He smiled knowingly and motioned with his head. “I think someone came to see you, your Majesty…”

Alistair turned, following his line of vision, and his ambers softened upon seeing her.

Saying nothing and placing a hand over her pounding heart, Everil took a few steps and ran to him. She could see only him and all she wanted was to touch him. To feel for herself that he was really there, in Vigil’s Keep, with her. He opened his arms for her just before she threw herself at him, nearly knocking him to the ground. Alistair held her so tightly it hurt, shutting his eyes while burying his nose in the crook of her neck.

Anders blinked at the sight, muttering to the others, “Is she allowed to do that?” 

“Have you been living under a rock or somethin’?” Oghren grumbled back, gazing up at him. “She’s his sodding wife.”

“Oh…” Anders had to do a double-take on his words. “Wait, come again?”

“The commander’s the hero of Ferelden and our queen,” Mhairi elaborated, sending him a sideways glare. “Which means you have better show some respect, mage.”

He whistled in amazement. “Quite the impressive list of titles… It actually explains a lot.”

Still clinging to her husband, Everil basked in his closeness, ignoring the way his cold armor plates pressed to her sore body. It had been months. Too long a time without being able to see him or hear his voice. She pulled back and kissed his lips ever so gently, then leaned her forehead against his. “I’ve missed you so…”

“Maker, and I you….” Alistair uttered, lovingly gazing over her features. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine, thanks to you.” She reluctantly detached herself from him, then looked at the man beside them. 

Fergus grinned at her. “Hi, little sister.” 

“Brother!” Everil stepped over to him and wrapped her arms around his neck.

He hugged her back, relief washing over him. “We heard about the attack on our way out of Highever... I’m so glad to see you're in one piece.”

“Yes… though most of the keep wasn’t so fortunate.” She withdrew and observed the surrounding destruction. “It’ll take time to rebuild…” 

Approaching footsteps drew their stares to the seneschal and her party as they came near. Varel and Mhairi took a knee before the king, bowing their heads to him. “Your Majesty,” he said, rising to his feet. 

“Good to see you again, Varel. Mhairi,” Alistair greeted them, then his attention went to the dwarf and his eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Oghren? What are you doing here?”

“Helping your woman save the day, obviously.” Oghren folded his arms, snickering at him. “Great sodding entrance earlier. Seems you’re getting good at this king thing.”

Alistair chuckled. “Yeah, well don’t spread that around. You know I have a reputation to maintain.” He glanced quizzically at his wife. “Where's Bjorn? I figured you would have brought him with you.”

“I left him behind with Eleanor. He’s her hound now…” she replied somberly.

“I see…” He put on a slight grin. “I suppose it’s for the best… He’ll take good care of her while we’re gone.”

“Varel,” Everil called to the seneschal. “Based on what we’ve seen, what is the status of the keep?”

He clasped his hands behind his back, standing regally in spite of his disheveled appearance. “I would say we have regained control of the fortress, but we’ve been left severely weakened due to the many dead and wounded. We’ll need to call on or replace those who fled, as well.” A slight sigh escaped him. “Then there is the matter of the Wardens we lost… You are the only one left, Commander. Which means you will need to reestablish your ranks here if we are to be prepared for another darkspawn attack.”

“What? Are you serious?” Alistair questioned in both horror and disbelief. “They managed to kill every Grey Warden?”

“No…” Everil glanced up at him. “They kidnapped most of them for some reason. A talking darkspawn was leading the assault on the keep and ordering others to take them alive. For what purpose, I do not know yet.”

“A talking darkspawn?” His frown deepened. “How’s that even possible? They’re not supposed to be that smart...”

Fergus also held a disturbed expression, stroking his chin. “I can’t imagine how it would be capable of learning our speech. Could it be an oddball scenario? Perhaps from some strange… sort of forbidden magic?”

“I don’t know, but it was skilled in battle too… beyond any other darkspawn we ever faced.” Everil crossed her arms, gazing between the two. “It could hold its ground against me… nearly took me as it did the other Wardens. If it hadn’t been for your intervention…”

“Yeah, I don’t even want to think about it,” Alistair muttered uncomfortably. 

“But you killed it… right?” Fergus asked, a troubled look in his brown eyes. 

“I did, but there is no telling if there are others like it plotting another siege…” She once again addressed the seneschal. “Varel. I need to find out how all of this happened. Where the darkspawn came from. If others have any information on their activity in the area. Anything that can give me a lead as to what their angle might be.”

“Yes, Commander.” He nodded. “Shall I also seek out volunteers for the Joining Ritual?”

Alistair soberly gazed at her. “You’ll need more Wardens at your side if you’re going to look into this and venture into the Deep Roads. If you need any of my men, you have but to ask.”

“I think I already have three perfectly good recruits,” Everil replied, gesturing to her party.

Oghren slammed a fist to his chest. “Yep! You’ve got a volunteer right here!”

“Wonderful, so I’m stuck with your disgusting mouth…” Mhairi sighed pitifully, glancing at the dwarf. “But I guess the Wardens did always welcome any help they could get.”

He sent her a wicked grin. “Oh, you talk big now… but all the ladies end up wanting some of ol’ Oghren.”

The knight curled her nose and let out a revolted snort.

“Wait, what are you on about... err… your Majesty?” Anders asked, lifting an eyebrow. “Are you saying you want to recruit me—an apostate—into your ranks?”

A slight smirk formed on Everil’s lips. “Yes. You helped me a great deal in there tonight and I could use a mage in my quest. Thus, I’m conscripting you into the Grey Wardens.”

“Not to question your judgment or anything but… Do you have any idea what would happen if the Chantry and their templars they found out you took me along?” He made hand gestures for emphasis as he spoke. “Their heads would explode and their skirts would go up in flames! Not that I wouldn’t like to see that, but yes… they wouldn’t be too happy with you.”

“The Grey Wardens have what’s called the Right of Conscription in Ferelden,” the king interjected, offering him a half-smile. “That means they can recruit anyone they please, even if it ultimately ruffles a few feathers. So…” He casually shrugged. “If conscripting you is what your commander needs, then I will allow it and the Chantry will just have to deal with it. They already complain to me about everything, anyway.”

“Oh…” A grin split Anders’s face. “All right, I’m all for being a Grey Warden. Especially if that means they’ll stop chasing after me. I’d face darkspawn over templars any day.”

“Then it is settled. The three of you will undergo the Joining Ritual as soon as the commander gives the word,” said Varel, who then addressed the king. “Your Majesty, are you and your men going to remain here?”

“Only until morning,” Alistair replied tiredly. “There’s some… trouble in the Bannorn I have to deal with.”

Everil glanced at him, barely able to hide her disappointment. That he was here meant that he’d veered away from his critical quest to stunt the brewing rebellion in the Bannorn to help her. So of course his return to her would be fleeting. Still, even while knowing the importance behind his impending departure, she couldn’t shake off the heartache it caused. 

Varel dipped his head and turned to the commander. “Then I will have a couple of our remaining servants prepare the living quarters. Perhaps the kitchens were also spared and we can scrounge up a few meals. Things will be… abnormal for everyone at first, but… we have to try to move on from this.”

“Right…” She forced a smile. “Thank you, Varel...”

The seneschal bowed to them and spun about, taking off to perform his duties. 

⚜⚜⚜⚜

It was near midnight by the time the keep returned to a somewhat livable state and most retired to their respective quarters. The royal army sat around campfires outside, some passed out after having had some ale the survivors gratefully gave them. While indoors, a few remaining servants did their rounds throughout the halls, tending to the visiting nobles or the injured.

A fireplace and a few candles lit up the Warden-Commander’s spacious chambers within the keep, warding off the cold of night. It was decorated as lavishly as any highborn’s rooms, with a grand bed at its center, an oak wood desk by a window, and rich, crimson flowing drapes. Carpets covered the stone floor, while sculptures and paintings of mabari hounds and battlefields completed the decor. 

Steam rose from the wide, stone bathtub built onto the floor in a corner while the floral aroma of lavender masked the residual smell of ash wafting from the outside. It was a scent Alistair had found relaxing before, but his heart still beat rapidly inside its cage. He was staring at her from the bath some servants prepared for them, watching her undress for the first time since he’d left the palace. Suddenly thirsty, he automatically reached for the cup of wine on the tray by the tub and drank from it.

“How did your talks go?” Everil asked while untying her trousers, glancing at him over one shoulder. She smiled inwardly, her own pulse drumming wildly upon sensing his eyes on her.

“Hm...?” He gulped more of the red liquid as if entranced, admiring the way she gradually slid the fabric down her long legs. His stare lingered over her perfectly rounded glutes, her supple skin beckoning him. She was teasing him. Tempting him. Yet he had to admit he relished this bit of torture.

A slight chuckle escaped her. “With Highever’s lords... How did the talks go?” 

“Oh…” Alistair swallowed when she spun to face him and went for her shirt next, still stained in dried, darkspawn blood. Others would have likely grimaced at the soiled fabric, but he ignored it, focusing instead on the flesh beneath it as she methodically slid it up. “They… went well.” His voice cracked, and he cleared his throat as she tossed the piece of clothing. “I had to fix a few things in our trading agreement, but we’re in good—” He paused, frowning upon seeing the bruises over her once creamy skin. “Everil, you’re injured…”

Blinking, she looked at herself in the mirror upon the dresser off to the side, seeing the glaring purple and blue blemishes marring her ribs and flank. Marks she’d earned in her battle with The Withered. “It’s nothing.” She smiled reassuringly at him. “It doesn’t even hurt.”

“Hmm…” The concern in his eyes told her he wasn’t convinced.

“Don’t worry so much, darling. Just savor the view…” Her delicate digits went to the knot at the center of her bra, tugging and pulling on it until the fabric came loose. “You haven’t seen it for some time.”

“It’s impossible for me not to worry about you…” he breathed as he watched that piece of clothing fall, unraveling the perked up breasts he so desired. 

“I know…” Her hands slid down her bosom, over her rosy peaks and south to the garment wrapped about her hips. “Now, tell me what else happened? Are we certain they are faithful to you?”

“Yes…” he croaked, feeling himself twitch at her sensual motions. Maker, this woman knew how to break his concentration. And it was obvious she found it fun. He was forced to take another drink to dampen his wry vocals. “Well… except for one man…” His expression soured at the thought of the one who’d literally walked out from his fold. “But don’t concern yourself over that… I have a plan...”

“You are asking me to do the impossible as well, it seems.” She removed the last of her vestments, finally standing bare before him. Her hips swayed as she sauntered to him, a slight smile playing over her enticing lips. 

His eyes stared hungrily, following her every move and every curve. Sliding in one foot first, she took the hand he offered her, letting him guide her to him as she submerged herself into the comforting heat of their bath. Her breasts came dangerously close to his face as she lowered herself over him, straddling him and lovingly running her fingers through his dirty-blond hair. “I’ve been worried about you since you left, my king…” she whispered, sprinkling light kisses over his lips. “I’ve been thinking about you day and night… Wondering if your men were keeping you safe. When you would return to me…”

Alistair set aside his drink and tenderly wiped a smudge of soot from her cheek. “I’m sorry, my love...” He kissed her back, then nuzzled her nose, his voice soft, yet leaden with desire. “I thought of you just as much, trust me… but I’m here now. Let’s enjoy tonight and worry about the rest tomorrow...”

“Right…” she whispered and her mouth claimed his in a slow, passionate kiss, invading his cavern and tasting in it the wine he’d drank. He exhaled heavily out the nose, their tongues locked in a dance as they poured their pent up desires into each other. His hands trailed up her back, his callouses leaving goosebumps in their wake as she moaned. 

She absently rocked her pelvis back and forth, stroking his erection between her folds while her breasts and hard nipples brushed over his chest. Teasing him further and driving him to the edges of his sanity. With a needy groan, Alistair brought his hands to her rear and squeezed, earning a mewl whilst he nibbled on her bottom petal, suckling on it as a hummingbird searched for sweet pollen. “Maker… But you drive me crazy…” he uttered huskily, kneading her glutes as her sex continued to slide over his throbbing length.

“I want to savor every inch of you…” she said between lustful kisses. “Slowly… So I may hope this brief moment with you will sustain me until we're together again…” Her hand slid south between their bodies and gripped his girth, her mere touch sending electricity shooting through his shaft and drawing a hungry moan out of him. The need for her was too great, almost unbearable. And all he wanted was to release himself inside her and pour himself into her well until he had nothing left to give.

As if reading his thoughts, Everil lifted her hips and came down, granting him entrance into her waiting depths. They shuddered as she took in his length, enveloping him, stretching around him until he reached her top. Then she moved at a sluggish pace, whimpering softly with each drag of his sword within her moist sheath. 

“Everil…” Alistair felt the heat rise tenfold as her tight walls surrounded him, their possessive grip oh so delicious. How he’d missed feeling her. Her sweet taste and her scent. It was all too intoxicating, their joining vanquishing all thoughts of tomorrow and forcing his full attention on her. On the way her pelvis ground against his every time they met. On her tongue as it twirled with his in a hungry waltz.

Waves of gentle pleasure flowed over her from her center as she focused on the friction. On how he stretched her as he went back in and pressed the sensitive spot deep within her. Her mouth strayed from his, traveling over that stout jaw and settling over his raging pulse. She kissed his jugular, then dragged her tongue up along his neck, earning a quivering moan as he dug his fingers into her skin “Does it feel good…?” she murmured, her breath warm and thick as she tasted his flesh like hardened sugar.

“Oh, Maker, yes…” he groaned, closing his eyes in pure bliss as he quivered under her caress. She continued to move in that slow, agonizing pace, rising until he was almost out of her, only to fall again. Each stroke turned the valve holding the already overwhelming pressure in, loosening it one inch at a time. His hand wandered and climbed over one of her soft mounds, palming it and massaging it in lazy circles. Then he pinched her nipple, pulling gently, twisting, unleashing more pleasurable currents upon her.

“Darling…” she gasped into his ear as she rode him a little faster, impatiently searching for their end. Pleasure irradiated from her core as his rod stroked her loins, chipping away at the dam keeping her tumultuous waters at bay. How she’d longed for his touch. For the feeling of him filling that space inside her that belonged only to him. 

Alistair released a guttural groan as the slight change in speed increased the friction between their joined parts, sharpening the bolts shooting through him. He took her by the hips, his biceps flexing whilst he helped her rise and drop onto him, seeking that precipice with her. 

“Oh, Alistair…!” she squealed, ignoring the bit of water spilling out of their bath as they suddenly caused waves over its surface. 

“Ah… Keep going, love...” he huffed, feeling the tension quickly rising to the breaking point. “Don’t stop…!”

Everil cupped his cheek and sought his lips in a ravenous, sloppy kiss, their breaths intertwining along with their passionate moans. The knot in her tightened further and further, threatening to burst as he hit it in a steady, yet maddening loop. “Come with me…” she begged, pressing her forehead to his. “Come with me, my king…”

His groans grew louder as that ardent plea pulled him to the edge, driving him as if he were hers to command. And then she whined loudly as her body tensed and her sex throbbed, clenching around him and yanking him the rest of the way. “Maker’s breath…!” he grunted, her pulsing depths tearing apart the pressure valve and unleashing the intense shocks of pleasure he'd held in for so long. He brought her down on him and halted her movements, releasing his seed deep inside her as her pulsing loins drank every drop. 

Everil kissed him, over and over, straying to his cheek before whispering in his ear, “I love you…” 

“Hmm…” His hand went up her back, fingers trailing her spine as he nuzzled the crook of her neck. “I love you too… More than anything...”

They held each other as the seconds ticked by, the only sounds being their heavy breathing, erratic heartbeats, and the crackling of the fire. Her kisses gradually tamed his racing pulse as he too soothed her with his tender caress. Maker, if only he could stay like this with her. Forever entangled in her embrace. 

After a moment, Everil hummed blissfully and shifted, releasing him from her folds and carefully turning to sit between his legs. She leaned her head back on his shoulder, wearing her bottom lip upon feeling his fading arousal press against her back. He snaked one arm about her waist, the brush of his fingers over her bruised side making her reflexively tense as she hissed.

“‘Doesn’t even hurt’, huh…?” he murmured teasingly into her ear. “You naughty liar…”

She half-smiled, unable to weave her way out for this one. “I will ask Anders to fix it later…” 

“Is he as good as Wynne?” 

“I... don’t know. I have yet to see him use healing magic.” 

Alistair released a hopeless sigh and kissed her temple. “Just... be more careful next time, all right?”

“I’ll be fine...” she breathed and sat up a bit to wash her dark tresses. It was an odd thought, but she realized they were used to the blood and dirt constantly caked over them after every battle. Neither of them even found it remotely disgusting. It was… normal. Their own normal. But that didn’t mean she didn’t want to rid herself of it. Being clean of that tainted blood reminded her she was still human on the surface. Pure. If only in image alone. 

Alistair took a triangle of cheese from the tray beside them, offering it to her first. She bit out half and he finished the rest before reaching for his wine. “That talking darkspawn…” He took a small drink to wash down the morsel, then handed her the same cup. “Did it say anything about what it wanted?”

“It only said that Grey Wardens don’t understand its kind as we think we do... And then it refused to answer my questions.” She drank, the bitter heat almost numbing her aching body. “Somehow… I think it wasn’t acting on its own. That it may have been… driven by someone—or something.”

“You mean an archdemon or something like it?”

“Yes… Perhaps.” She returned the cup to him and he finished drinking the rest before setting it back in its place.

“Well... I don’t know if this has anything to do with it… but while on Highever, we stumbled upon a village caught in the middle of two warring darkspawn groups.” He huffed wearily and brushed his lips over her brow. “Whatever’s happening here… it needs to be stopped before more of our people die.”

“I will investigate that too, I suppose...” Everil’s expression saddened as she brushed her nails over his forearm. “It seems you and I have our own burdens to bear now…”

“Yeah… but we’re in this together… One way or another…”

“I know, but I just…” She exhaled, knitting her eyebrows. “I hate that we had to leave our child’s side to deal with all of these damn problems…”

“Hey…” He tenderly caressed her bare shoulder, nuzzling her wet locks. “She has Eamon and the entire castle staff, plus Bjorn watching over her… She’ll be all right. If anything, we’re doing this for her… For her future.”

“Yes… You’re right…” She released a soft breath. “But I miss her so…”

“I know… So do I…”

Comfortable silence stretched out between them and it was then that she noticed just how worn out she truly was, both mentally and physically. Everil went over what she’d seen thus far: Talking darkspawn. The Grey Wardens kidnapped. And that creature with the mask she still wanted gone.

There were so many questions. But she would find the answers. She had to. For their sake and for Ferelden’s.

  
  
  



	12. The Joining

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys. So there's another smut scene here... (I know... Is there such a thing as too much smut? lol nah...) I'm not so sure about it though. I meant for it to be loving and romantic, but I guess Everil wasn't having that. Hopefully, it doesn't change the tone too much. If you think it does and you believe it should be toned down, feel free to comment on that. My biggest fear is writing Alistair too OOC in those scenes (although my Alistair is hardened so he's much less... modest I would say).
> 
> Aside from that, there's a correction I made to the story... Ser Donall's rank used to be knight-lieutenant. I realized while I was reading this that such a rank actually doesn't match and that he should be a knight-commander, instead. I changed that, but it doesn't modify anything else in the story. I just figured I'd let you know in case you notice the change further down the road.
> 
> One last thing... I may be a bit slower posting going forward. I'm replaying Awakening to refresh my memory on some things, and I'm working OT at my day job, as well lol. So just a head's up. Please be patient and drop me a note if you have ideas, notice mistakes I missed, or just like something specific in the fic. It does certainly motivate me to keep writing when I read reviews from readers. Thank you again for your support! Cheers. -Nardhwen

⚜

A pair of heavy wooden doors swung open as a fair, redheaded lad entered a dining room on long strides, his chainmail chiming with every step. The servants standing nearby watched him come near, anxiously fidgeting and glancing at each other. He crossed the distance to the table, stopping at the end to face the man seated at the head, irritation over his squared face. Fat fingers ripped apart a slice of ham, bringing a piece to chapped lips that gobbled it in one bite. Bann Loren gazed up from his plate to the boy, seeing the angry stare he was directing at him.

He ignored it, gulping some wine before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Dairren… I see you’ve arrived from Edgehall. How was the trip?” He gestured to the chair next to him. “Come break your fast with me!”

“Spare me, Father. It’s because of you I was ousted from the arl’s service. The moment he heard of your… plans from Arl Teagan he renounced any involvement with Oswin and cast me out as a traitor’s son,” he retorted, hands closing to fists. “Why are you mounting a rebellion against the king? Who in the Maker’s name put such an insane idea in your head?”

“No one.” Loren nonchalantly resumed his meal. “I simply see that our nation's present situation requires a different approach. Ferelden has been left weakened by the Blight. We cannot get past these hard times without stronger leadership.”

“And you propose to divide us all? Or are you saying you’d be a better leader?”

“Not I, no… We will all be our own leaders. Rulers of our own lands… And perhaps even that of others inferior to us.”

“Inferior…?” Dairren took a step, wrinkling his brow. “You know most of the nobility won’t side with you. Even with what is said of the Couslands, Lady Everil and her husband are well-loved and respected as saviors to Ferelden. Many of their allies have enough influence and power to thwart any attempts at a revolt. There’s no way you will win this as you are. None at all. So stop this… Stop this before it’s too late. What you’re plotting will do nothing but bring more misery to the Bannorn.”

“You look only at what lies on the surface, my boy. I already have more allies than you can imagine. You will understand when all the pieces fall into place. For now, I will need your support in this.” Loren leaned forward, clasping his hands beneath his bearded chin. “You are to be my knight, after all. My champion.”

“My sword has always been yours to wield…” He shook his head in exasperation. “But I won’t fight for you. Not in this.”

Loren’s fist slammed onto the table with a loud bang and the clattering of plates followed, startling everyone in the room as he rose to his feet. “Fool!” he shouted. “You must be with me or else you will join the mountain of bodies that await us! I’ve already lost your mother to the Blight! I need not lose you too!”

Shaken by his sudden outburst, Darrien’s fists relaxed and he scrutinized him with suspicion. “This isn’t just about grabbing at power, is it, Father?” he asked softly, his voice carrying through the tense silence around them. “What did you do? Who’s whispering in your ear?”

For a moment, the bann didn’t answer. “Only fate, my son.” He lowered himself back into his chair and picked up his chalice, his cold eyes still upon him as he drank. Again, he wiped his mouth and a wicked grin spread over his lips. “But do not fret over our odds… For _he_ is on our side.”

  
  


⚜⚜⚜⚜

Birds chirped as the morning sun rose over the blue skies, casting its rays through the windows and into the chamber. There was peaceful silence, the only noise that of the men working on cleaning and rebuilding outside. Everil would have possibly slept for a while longer, had it not been for someone’s lips sprinkling soft kisses along her neck while the arm about her waist kept her naked back pressed to a warm, toned chest.

At first, she thought it was a dream. A moment of happiness amongst the nightmares that plagued her. But the loving purr she heard was unmistakable, and she smiled groggily, her heart fluttering in her chest. “Morning…”

“Good morning, dear wife…” Alistair murmured deeply over the shell of her ear. “Did you sleep well...?”

She wore her bottom lip as that simple, yet sensual caress stirred her yearning for him. Maker, but he knew her every weakness. “Much better with you here…” 

“Glad to hear it…” His palm deliberately slid to her thigh, along the curve of her hip, over her smooth stomach, leaving goosebumps in its wake as he kissed her beating jugular. 

Everil moaned and brought up an arm to bury her fingers in his hair, his ministrations sending shivers down her spine. His hardened manhood was poking her rear, causing the spot between her legs to tingle in anticipation. She could feel his hunger without even looking at him. And that he wanted her so, even after being together for over two years… it was elating. But she craved for him too, always. Just as she had when their love was still new. “Maker… I wish I could keep you here with me…” she whined pitifully as he kissed her throat again, his warm breath causing heat to rise to her face. 

“And I wish I could stay…” His hand wandered, climbing over her ribs before cupping her breast. He squeezed and massaged as if he owned it, making her gasp while his lips continued their assault on her drumming pulse. A heavy breath swept over her skin as he relished her sweetness, his moist tongue dragging upward to her earlobe before his teeth gently nipped and pulled on the bit of flesh. 

“Ah…” Everil squirmed, absently rubbing her glutes over his erection. Oh, she craved for him so. Yearned to feel him buried inside her once more. She turned over to face him and sought his lips with hers, hungrily devouring them as he took her rear and fondled her. 

In moments, he rolled her onto her back and got between her legs, his chiseled body pinning her to the mattress. Growling deep within his throat, he pulled back from the kiss. “I wish I could stay at least until tomorrow... so I may feast upon you again for lunch and for supper…” His raspy words stoked the fire in her core whilst he suckled on her petals. “But, alas, I’ll have to settle for breakfast alone...” His tongue invaded her mouth and fervently explored it as she released a feeble moan, her digits lacing through his dirty-blond locks. He reached between their bodies, gripping himself to drag the tip of his member along her moist folds. Then he entered her, slowly stretching her as she whined against his lips.

Alistair moaned and held her by the hip as he moved, withdrawing from her until he was nearly out, then sliding in to reach her top. She whimpered as he touched her depths, his deliberate, yet deep thrusts nudging her body up each time. Maker, it was the middle of a chilling Fereldan morning and their fireplace was out, yet he felt only warmth. A blazing heat that made it difficult to breathe, yet he welcomed as it enveloped them both.

She broke away from their kiss to gasp for air, her mind now completely awake and aware of the pleasure he was bringing her. Of how his length dragged along her tunnel. Of those bolts of electricity he unleashed from that sensitive spot inside her. Breathing laboriously, she stared into those beautiful ambers, the hunger in them drawing her in like a moth to a flame and stripping her of all defenses. Her frail voice came as a plea, her body aching for more, “Harder…” 

“Patience, my love…” Alistair breathed with a chuckle and kissed the corner of her mouth, straying to brush his lips over her flushed cheek. Then he murmured into her ear, “Let me savor you…”

“But—” A squeal escaped her when he nibbled on her earlobe. “Ah…! W-What if someone comes to the door…?” 

“Then they’ll have to wait…” he purred while gentle fingers trailed over her flesh, following her outline as if he were carving her into his memory. “And if they linger… they’ll get to hear your lovely voice call my name over and over…”

Everil swallowed at his subtle promise, suddenly feeling weak and at his mercy. Mewling in bliss, she closed her eyes and surrendered to him, granting him free rein over her as pleasure coursed through her in steady streams. His thrusts were like heaven, shrouding her mind in a fog that blocked her every thought. His moans and groans filled her ears, his gratification gradually fueling hers and feeding her unrelenting blaze. 

Carefully pushing himself up, Alistair went onto his knees and slid his arms beneath her legs, leaning her bottom against his thighs. And he admired her as if she were a work of art, penetrating her at his leisure while giving her a full view of the way his muscles flexed while he moved. His ravenous ambers descended from her bobbing breasts to their joined parts and she quivered under his stare, hearing the wet noises they made.

“Hmmyou feel so good…” he groaned, the sight of him gliding out of her and drifting back into her glistening flower intensifying the waves traveling along his shaft. Her moans were like music to his ears. A siren’s call that drowned out reason and lured him into seeking nothing but to please her. To hear more of that sensual melody whilst he happily followed it to his end. 

She wore her bottom lip and whimpered, the gradual friction testing her sanity while casting her adrift towards a distant roaring waterfall. “Oh, darling…” Everil whispered through heavy breaths. “Oh, give me more… please...” 

“Hmm… You’ve been a good girl thus far…” Alistair lowered himself over her and placed both palms upon the mattress, bringing her bent legs with him so to angle her pelvis and leave her wide open and at his mercy. “So I will grant you your wish…” And he dove into her, a bit faster, harder, the tilt granting his sword a deeper reach.

“Maker…!” Everil squealed as he suddenly set off a stream of sharp, pleasurable pain that nearly took what breath she had left away. She bit down her cries as he pounded her, slow, yet rough, her body unguarded to his assault as his handsome face hovered over hers.

“My name, love… ” he huffed, looking into her sky-blue orbs. “Let me hear you… call for me...” He quickened his pumps. In and out. In and out in a maddening cadence that rivaled the rapid beating of his heart and tore apart her restraint.

“Alistair!” she screamed for all to hear, pure ecstasy painted over her flushed face. “Oh, yes! Alistair!”

“Oh, yeah… That’s it…” he groaned as her cries and the smacking of their bodies filled the chamber, her rapture increasing his own as each plunge into her tight cavern pushed him closer to the edge. He took in the sight of her reddened features, the sweat trickling down her brow, her open mouth as she squealed and panted for air, and those glazed blue pools brimmed with lust. Maker, but she was beautiful. Her scent alone was enough to inebriate him. To drive away any decorum he may yet wield. “Say it again, love…!”

“Ah, yes! Oh, Maker! Alistair!” Her hands sought the furs upon their bed and she clutched them for support. “Oh, Alistair, don’t stop!” She lost herself in this frenzy, unable to tell up from down whilst he ravaged her. Yet she knew where she was headed as the currents sped up, faster and faster with his pumps, dragging her towards the coming drop and to the ends of oblivion. She let them take her. Let them carry her just before she watched him shut his eyes tight and heard his strangled cry as he went with her.

Everil gasped and cried out while he throbbed and spilled his seed into her womb, her body tensing as the coil inside her snapped and they dropped off the cliff. Her walls tensed and shrunk around him, making him groan loudly as her body convulsed with every piercing bolt rushing over her. They heaved and huffed as they twitched, the waves crashing onto them until they gradually ebbed away. 

Panting for breath, he shakily adjusted himself. He let her lower her legs and settled atop her, burying his nose in the crook of her neck. In a daze, she wrapped weak arms about him and kissed his shoulder while her hands trailed over his broad back. Everil smiled tiredly upon feeling more sprinkled pecks along her throat, gentle and fleeting. And they held each other for a long while, relishing the time they had left before he was to leave her side once more.

⚜⚜⚜⚜

By noon the small army of soldiers gathered in the bailey, all prepared for travel. Several knights mounted their horses and rode to the front, moving to formation, their banners flowing in the breeze. More armored men stood at the gates to the keep as they slid open and their king descended the steps, clad in his golden armor and accompanied by his wife, his brother-in-law, and his royal escort. The seneschal wasn’t far behind.

“So you're heading West, then?” Everil asked before they reached the bottom of the stairs, halting just outside. She was back in her warden-commander armor, now freshly cleaned, while her hair was pulled into a bun.

Alistair faced her, one hand resting upon his sword’s hilt. “Yes. To Bronach. It'll take us about a week or two to get there. Then we ride to—well more like sail to—the Waking Sea bannorn. I need to have someone who can speak for me in the north-western lands and Bann Alfstanna is one of our allies.”

She worriedly knitted her eyebrows. “But… wouldn't that take you close to Oswin? Bann Loren's lands?”

“Alfstanna already knows I’m on my way, so she’ll be standing by in case there’s trouble,” he replied with a half-smile. “Besides, I trust he won’t be foolish enough to act on his own while I have my men and your brother’s with me. He may already be a fool for trying to pull this off, but I’m sure he’s not  _ that  _ stupid.”

Still, that didn’t reassure her. For all his prowess, her husband was walking into possible danger with only a portion of his army to back him up. There was no telling who else had turned against them nor how many. And Bronach was uncomfortably close to the southern Bannorn.

A curled finger under her chin lifted her gaze to Alistair's tender ambers. He cupped her cheek and kissed her forehead. “I'll be all right, my dear. Just focus on your task and be careful. We both have to return home to Eleanor in one piece.”

She placed her hand over his. “Right…”

Ser Donall bowed to her, a fist to his chest. “Don't worry, your Majesty. As always, my knights and I will make sure nothing happens to him.”

“Same here, little sister,” said Fergus, patting her shoulder. “I’ll keep him out of trouble for you.”

Alistair grinned playfully at the two men. “See? I’ve got the best nannies.”

“Just don’t expect me to feed you and burp you too,” Fergus jested back.

“Yes, I wouldn’t recommend it, my lord. I already did some of that when he was but a toddler in Redcliffe castle,” Donall joined in, folding his arms. “ The maids would just leave him with me sometimes. And I dare say that was the worst part about being a young squire under Arl Eamon.”

The king snickered at him. “Oh, you know you loved me. I was adorable! Dirty nappies and all.”

Donall let out a light laugh. “Whatever you say, sire.”

Still smiling, Everil hopelessly rolled her eyes and addressed the three. “Well, I can see none of you are remotely concerned, so I suppose I will try not to be myself. Just watch yourselves and keep away from dragons, giants, and highwaymen.”

“Now, on those, I can’t make any promises,” Alistair jested with a gentle smirk and gave her cheek a gentle kiss. “Farewell, for now...”

“Goodbye, darling…” Everil placed a hand over her chest, watching him and his knights head toward their horses.

Fergus came closer and gathered her into a tight hug. “Stay safe, Evy. Kill some darkspawn for me, will you?”

“Of course, Brother.” She held him just as tightly, her chin atop his shoulder. “Please take care of each other. I want both of you to come safely back to me, do you hear me?”

“Loud and clear…” he murmured, rubbing her back before slowly withdrawing from her. He gently stroked her cheek, then spun about, following the others.

Once all mounted their steeds, the king gazed upon her from his horse, warm sunlight making his armor glimmer almost magically. He offered her one last, loving smile, then kicked his ride into motion, moving in a wide circle within the bailey while his knights and the rest of the men went with him. She stood still as he rode off, seeing his form grow smaller and smaller as he traveled further away from her. And although he’d made light of the situation, there was still an uncomfortable pressure in her heart.

“Commander?”

Everil craned her head toward Varel, who came to stand beside her.

“Shall we summon the recruits for the Joining?” he asked, hands clasped at his back.

“Yes,” she replied, returning her stare to the retreating soldiers in the distance. “It’s time.”

⚜⚜⚜⚜

The doors to the keep’s great hall opened as a soldier entered, Oghren, Anders, and Mhairi trailing behind him. They gazed about at the towering wooden pillars as they trekked over the red carpet, where a few blood stains could still be seen from the battle against the darkspawn. A great hearth burned at its center, its light reflecting off of the decorative sets of armor set up at each side. Weapons and bookshelves also sat on the walls, while a banner with the Grey Warden emblem hung from the rafters. 

The group approached the throne at the end of the grand room, where Everil sat with her legs crossed and with Varel at her right side. Mhairi took a knee before her, then seeing that the mage wasn’t doing the same, she sought his wrist and yanked him down with her, grumbling something under her breath. He sent her an annoyed glare, but complied, emulating her reverence. 

The queen smiled at them and got on her feet. “I hope all of you had your rest.”

“Yes. I have to admit sleeping on a bed was a lot better than sleeping on the ground,” Anders said as he rose, rubbing the side of his neck. “Not having darkspawn butchering everyone around helped too.”

“The keep’s staff has been most gracious, Commander,” Mhairi added politely. “Even despite everything that’s happened.”

“So when do we do this Joining thing?” Oghren muttered, crossing his arms. “We’re wasting daylight, Everil.”

Everil shook her head at his impatience, then looked at the soldier who accompanied them. “Thank you. You may go now. And please make sure no one else enters the hall until we’re done.”

“Yes, Commander.” The young man bowed before spinning about and heading back the way they came.

In moments it was just the wardens and the seneschal, the hall growing silent before Everil cast her somber gaze upon the three. It was likely that one, or perhaps all of them would perish here. But it was a risk they needed to take. Although there was a certain dwarf she had her doubts about. “Oghren… Are you certain joining the Wardens is what you wish to do?” she asked, a hand on her hip. “What about your wife, Felsi? And your son?”

Oghren shrugged. “They’ll be fine… That woman’s tough as nails and the lad’s healthy. I would rather not discuss personal stuff now, Warden. Let’s just get this over with.”

“Very well…” She regarded the rest. “I will not lie to any of you. The Joining ritual is dangerous and unpredictable. Not all of you may make it through. And those who do will be forever changed.”

“So… that’s why you didn’t tell me about what happens during the Joining…” Mhairi said with a slight frown. “Because it’s dangerous and I may change my mind if I hear about it.”

Everil nodded slowly.

“Oh, great… so I could die here today.” Anders folded his arms with a huff. “Thanks for the warning, sweetheart.”

“Would you rather die now for something greater than yourself or live persecuted for the rest of your days?” Everil countered, lifting an eyebrow at him. “I would say freedom from the Chantry and their templars is worth taking this fifty-fifty chance to live or die. Wouldn’t you agree?

He paused, visibly going through her words in his mind. Then he released a soft sigh and begrudgingly looked away from her. “Fine. I’ll give you that one. I don’t have very many options, anyway.”

“I think the sacrifice is worthwhile.” Mhairi stared fearlessly at her. “I’m ready.”

Oghren slammed a fist to his chest. “Same here!”

With a firm expression, Everil turned to Varel and gave him a solemn nod. The seneschal moved to the table by the throne, where the same silver chalice used in her Joining sat over a blue cloth. He carefully picked it up with both hands and stepped towards her, handing it over to her. The Warden-Commander then addressed the three recruits once more. “We say only a few words before the Joining. And these words have been said since the first...”

The three gazed at her intently, listening to her speak in silence.

“Join us brothers and sisters. Join us in the shadows where we stand vigilant. Join us as we carry the duty that cannot be forsworn.” Everil looked at each of them, her voice steady and almost soothing. “And should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten. And that one day, we shall join you.”

“Commander…” Mhairi called, a fist to her chest as she regarded her with a steely stare. “I wish to be the first.”

Everil’s eyes widened a fraction at her eagerness and she almost hesitated to hand her the cup. This was her knight. A woman she trusted with her life. And now, she was placing hers in her hands without question. Exhaling a breath, she smiled a little at her, her features softening. “All right… Mhairi, step forth.”

The knight did as she was told and reached for the chalice. She scrutinized its contents, seeing the black liquid swirling within. It smelled foul as darkspawn did. “This is darkspawn blood, isn’t it?” she asked, glancing up at her. 

“Yes… mixed in with archdemon blood and other things. It’s what grants us our abilities as Grey Wardens,” Everil replied honestly. 

“Ugh… So we’re drinking blood from those… monsters?” Anders muttered uncomfortably nearby. 

“Yeah, so what?” Oghren scoffed at him. “I’ll bet it ain’t even that bad.”

Mhairi couldn’t blame the mage for being perturbed and afraid. Her own pulse drummed in her ears as if a predator were hunting her from the shadows. But she wouldn’t turn back. Not now that she could be of greater service to Ferelden. She licked her lips and drank, while the others observed for a reaction. And it didn’t take long. 

“Gah!” Mhairi folded over, scratching at her throat while releasing an anguished cry. She hacked and coughed and heaved, fear etched upon her features as her eyes rolled into her head. And all Everil could do was watch as she collapsed onto the floor and convulsed. 

“Maker’s breath!” Anders backed away, staring at the fallen woman in fear as she twitched and moved as if possessed.

“She’s fine…” Everil replied quietly, a conflicted look over her features. “The taint is coursing through her veins and taking over her body. She will live.” Then her attention went to him, neutral and unfeeling. “Step forth, Anders.”

He released a shuddering huff and hesitated, staring at that chalice as if it were a death sentence. Which could very well be in the next decisive moments. He swallowed thick and stepped towards her. “Fine, just… Give me that thing.” 

Everil handed him the cup and Anders grimaced at its contents, again gulping as if he were trying to keep himself from hurling. While beside him, Oghren grew impatient and nudged his leg with his elbow. “Hurry it up, blondie!”

“Don’t rush me, dwarf!” He shot him an indignant glare, then drew in a deep breath before bringing the cup up to his mouth. “All right… here goes nothing.” His stare went up to the commander. “I better not end up waking up in my small clothes and with a tattoo on my forehead…” He drank and returned the cup to Everil, making a face at the taste. In seconds, he too folded in agony, grunting as he held his throat as his eyes rolled into his head. He fell on his knees and then on his chest, his body convulsing as the taint overtook it. 

A corner of Everil’s lips tilted up. “Well… It looks like he got lucky twice over.” 

“My turn.” Oghren walked up to her. “Let me show these two how it’s done!” Before she could call on him, he took the cup from her and knocked it back, drinking what remained of the tainted cocktail. And he belched, so loudly that it echoed through the hall and Varel curled his nose in disgust. “That wasn’t so bad.” He smacked his lips. “Hrmph… kinda tastes like wine, to be honest. Cheap wine maybe...”

_ By Andraste…  _ The Warden-Commander stared at him in astonishment. He was still standing, eyes in his skull, and entirely unfazed as he took in the darkspawn’s curse. He didn’t even twitch.  __

Varel cleared his throat, coming closer to awkwardly take the chalice from the dwarf. “It… seems we didn’t lose anyone this time… Thank the Maker.”

“Yes… I am pleasantly surprised by that. Two men died during my Joining...” Everil sighed and looked over at the mage and her knight. “They’ll need some time to recover. Have some men take them to their rooms and provide them with their uniforms. After that, send me anyone who has information about the siege on the keep and any other attacks within the arling. I want details.”

“Understood, Commander. I already have a few names.” Varel set the cup back atop the table and strode past her, crossing the distance to the gates. 

“So...” Oghren rubbed his hands together with a wicked grin. “When does the darkspawn-killin’ fun begin?”

With a determined glint in her eye, Everil returned to the throne and lowered herself upon it. “As soon as I find out more about what happened here, my friend. Then, once we are ready, we may bring the fight to them,” she answered, glaring cooly at the burning hearth.

This was just the beginning. 


	13. City of Amaranthine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One thing I noticed while playing Awakening is the sheer lack of acknowledgment the Warden gets when it comes to her title as queen (provided that's the route you went). It bugs me still, but I understand why Bioware didn't exclusively include more bits of dialogue around that. I'm going to try and adjust the conversations in order to make them more realistic when it comes to my character's cannon. Hopefully, I don't overdo it. Now, I hope you enjoy this chapter! And again, feel free to drop me a note with your thoughts if you can ;). Thank you! Cheers - Nardhwen

⚜

_The grotesque images of darkspawn battling and feasting on human_ flesh faded into nothingness as consciousness returned to Anders. He scrunched up his face and his eyes cracked open to see the wooden rafters hovering over him. Grunting lightly, he pushed himself into a seating position and warily observed his surroundings, finding himself in a room with another bed set beside his. The same room he'd slept in the night before. 

“About sodding time you woke up.”

Anders’s head craned toward the rough voice and he let out a disappointed groan. “Geat, you survived.”

“Hrmph!” Oghren huffed and smirked at him as he leaned against the wall, now clad in his Grey Warden heavy armor and with his bladder of ale in one hand. “You bet I did. I took it like a man and you fainted like a little girl. But I guess it suits you since you moan so damn much.”

“Oh, do shut up…” Anders retorted moodily. After the nightmare he just had, he didn't have the patience for the dwarf's irritating jibes. 

He got on his feet and ran a hand down his face before glancing over at the pile of clothes folded at the foot of the bed. They looked similar to those the dwarf was wearing, only without the silverite plates, gauntlets, and grieves, replaced by cloth or leather. Mages didn't require the extra gear, instead, they relied on their magic to protect themselves. Traveling light also helped avoid weariness that would ultimately affect their focus and their stamina to cast spells.

“So this is to be my new uniform… At least it looks better than the robes I'm wearing,” he muttered, picking up the top piece and unraveling it. He went to remove his clothes, but stopped and sent Oghren an irritated look. “Do you mind? Some privacy would be nice.”

Oghren crossed his arms and drunkenly scoffed. “What’s that? Are you sayin’ I'll get turned on by your buffed up body, mage?”

“What?” Anders curled his nose. “Ugh, no! Just… Just get out, you walking brewery!” He stalked over to him and opened the door before promptly shoving him out. “I could have shared a room with the lovely knight, but nooo… I had to be bunked with you!” 

“Well, I didn’t wanna bunk with ya either! All you do is bitch and ruin my buzz!” Oghren shouted back before the door slammed on his face. He grumbled something about annoying mages just as a guard was passing by, gazing down at him with a puzzled frown. “What are ya lookin’ at!” he barked at him, causing the lad to walk a little faster.

⚜⚜⚜⚜

Leaning back in her throne, Everil crossed her legs and watched as Varel approached with two others behind him. They came to a stop before her, the seneschal moving to stand at her right side. He gestured to the blond man in armor. “This is Ser Garevel, Commander, the new captain of the guard. He is replacing the one we lost during the siege and has already gathered details about the attack from the surviving soldiers within the keep.”

“My queen,” Garevel greeted her whilst taking a knee and bowing his head. “It’s a privilege to finally meet the hero of Ferelden.”

“There is no need for such reverence, ser,” Everil replied with a slight smile, waving a hand for him to rise. “I’m not the queen while I serve Ferelden as warden-commander. I do not wish for those on the outside to mistake my current… involvement with the order as purely political.”

“Understood, Commander.” He went to his feet. 

Varel then motioned for the old woman beside the captain. A stern-looking lady with snow-white hair braided in a bun and wearing a silk purple dress. “And this is Mistress Woolsey, sent by order of the First-Warden at Weisshaupt Fortress when the Orlesian Wardens were stationed here. She has information about some possible darkspawn attacks on merchant caravans in Amaranthine.”

“A pleasure, Commander,” she said with a bow. “I am to act as treasurer of the arling of Amaranthine in the name of the Grey Wardens. The First Warden believed local men could not be trusted for this post.”

“One of those ‘local men’ is standing right here, Mistress Woolsey,” Varel said, his tone polite, yet carrying a hint of indignation. 

“I have every confidence in the Vigil’s loyalty in the matter of arms. But gold corrupts even the most resolute souls,” she answered, folding her arms sternly.

Everil glanced up at the seneschal, then returned her attention to them. “All right… let’s start with the siege on the keep. Ser Garevel. What have the men said about what occurred? Did they say anything about where the darkspawn came from?”

“Yes, Commander.” He clasped his hands behind his back, lifting his chin. “It is common knowledge that there are underground tunnels beneath the keep that run deep. However, we did not know just how deep until all of this happened. We believe the darkspawn came from those tunnels, just outside the fortress walls.”

“I see…” The commander leaned forth, lacing her fingers beneath her chin. “That would explain how they were able to move in such large numbers without being noticed.”

“Yes.” He nodded. “We have a group of dwarves who were already renovating part of the fortress. They survived the attack and are back to work outside, now fixing what the darkspawn destroyed. Their stonemason, Voldric Glavonak, has said he can offer some insight on those tunnels and how to deal with them to avoid another preemptive attack.”

“Good. He will be next on my list. Is there anything you can tell me about darkspawn activity outside of the keep?” she prodded further. “My king tells me there have been attacks towards Highever.”

“There is one thing I heard… from the city, actually,” he answered, a bit uncertain. 

“Ser Garevel, you would send the Commander on a wild goose chase over a rumor?” Woolsey questioned disapprovingly. 

“I wish to hear everything, lady Woolsey. Rumors are often founded on pieces of truth,” Everil asserted, pulling their gazes back to her. “Tell me what you have, Captain.”

“There… was a wild tale a couple of hunters told. These hunters… Culbert and… well, the other one... claim to have stumbled across an entrance into the Deep Roads. Darkspawn all over the place, they said.” He shuddered involuntarily as he spoke. “The Wardens heard about it and were planning on sending someone to track them down and investigate, but this happened. The men should still be in the city of Amaranthine. Perhaps they can provide you with more details as to where they found such an entrance.”

“It sounds like my men and I will need to make a trip to the city and keep digging. Quite literally...” Everil leaned back in her chair. “Good work, ser. Mistress Woolsey… You have information regarding this matter?”

She nodded. “To a point… We have received reports of our merchant caravans being systematically attacked somewhere along the Pilgrim’s Path. We do not yet know by whom, as there have been no survivors to speak of. There is a trader, Mervis, in the city of Amaranthine. His caravans have been hit particularly hard, so he may know the specific locations where the darkspawn… or whatever is causing this disruption are operating.”

“Very well. I will speak to these people. Is there anything more I need to be aware of?”

“There is one other matter, Commander,” Varel spoke, gaining her attention. “We discovered that there is one Warden out in the field, based on reports left behind by your second in command, Ser Elias. He was to investigate the reason why the darkspawn were not going back underground with the Blight ended. Kristoff was his name, and he was sent to track down some leads. A fortnight ago he left in a bustle, as best we figure he also went to the city. I believe these… problems Garevel and Woolsey speak of may be connected to what he was after.”

Everil’s brows knitted as she too put the pieces together in her head. “Do you know where he could be within the city?”

“Unfortunately, no. I would bet a good place to start searching for him would be the inn. He has been gone for several days. Perhaps he’s still there.”

“All right…” She stood, her armor chiming with the motion. “I’ll check on the others and speak to Voldric first, then we will be on our way to the city.” Everil turned to the seneschal, a corner of her lips up. “Mind the keep, Varel. I should be back in a few days.”

He bowed, a fist over his heart. “Of course, Commander.”

⚜⚜⚜⚜

Expert fingers clasped the last of the leather straps around silverite gauntlets as Mhairi finished equipping her armor. She turned to the blade on her bed and reached for it, lifting it to sheath it at her hip. Then the shield followed. She held it up before her, looking at the griffon spreading its wings and releasing a silent cry painted over it. A slight smile tugged at her mouth. 

She did it. She became one of the heroes she’d read so much about in books—a Grey Warden. It was yet another accomplishment she was proud of. _I can’t wait to tell my father…_

All her life, the old man had doubted her and shot down her dreams. Even after being knighted, he’d told her she would eventually tire of pretending. Telling her she was to serve as a man’s wife, rather than as a man in the king’s army. Perhaps once her quest with the queen was over, she would return to Denerim and waltz into her old home with these noble vestments. Then she would hear what else he had to say.

A knock on the door snapped her out of her thoughts and she set the shield at her back before going to open it. She blinked, a little surprised upon seeing who it was. “Commander?” 

“Hi, Mhairi. How are you feeling?” Everil asked with a slight smile and her arms crossed.

“I-I’m all right, actually…” She reached up to rub the side of her neck, frowning a bit. “I had some… strange visions about darkspawn, but aside from that I feel fine. I believe what you told me a while back prepared me for it… so I wasn’t too shocked.”

“Good. Well, if you feel well enough, we can head out.” Everil patted her shoulder and spun to head back down the hall. 

“What? Where are we going, Commander?” Puzzled, Mhairi went after her, closing the door behind her. 

“Amaranthine. But we have to fetch Oghren and Anders first.”

They crossed the hall as a few guards passed them by, stopping to bow to their commander before continuing on their way. Everil glanced over at the other woman, seeing the sureness in her stare. That she was grateful she made it was an understatement. At least she would have someone she trusted with her, aside from her old dwarven friend.

“The armor suits you,” she casually complemented.

“Thank you, Commander...” Mhairi lifted her chin with pride. “Why are we going to Amaranthine? Did you find out anything about the attack on the keep?”

“Yes… There’s a few contacts there I have to speak with and a Grey Warden we have to find. I’ll give you the details on the way.”

⚜⚜⚜⚜

The bailey was bustling with activity from guards and workers walking about. Some were already rebuilding the burned down huts and shops. The banging of a hammer against metal sounded off as the blacksmith worked on restocking their armory and repairing equipment. The chime of chainmail joined the noise as Everil and her three new Wardens made their way out of the gates, all wearing cloaks and prepared for travel. Each carried a backpack with their camping gear, just enough for setting up a tent and a few provisions.

“Well, the place definitely looks a lot better than it did last night,” Anders commented as they passed by the smithy. 

“Hopefully we can recover from this soon before we get another surprise,” said Everil.

A dwarf with long brown hair and dressed in a simple tunic turned toward approaching footsteps, having been sorting through blocks of stone near one of the keep’s walls. Other dwarves worked with him, though they kept their focus on their task while he addressed the incoming group. “Commander.”

“Are you Voldric?” Everil asked.

“I am, ser.” He ran a hand down his thick beard. “I take it your captain sent you my way.”

She folded her arms, gazing sternly down at him. “He did, indeed. Tell me what you know about the tunnels beneath the keep.”

“Based on our recent survey of the ground around the keep—which we did to find materials to fix up this place—we found those tunnels go miles underground. A few of us ventured in and had to turn back out of concern of running into any of those sodded monsters.” 

“If the tunnels lead into the Deep Roads, that certainly leaves us exposed…” Everil uttered uncomfortably. “How do you propose we deal with this weakness?”

“I say we need to investigate further and find the location where these tunnels converge, then block it off and keep the bastards from coming back. My men and I can build a barrier that can deter the darkspawn for some time, but we will need protection against anything that may jump at us while we work.” He toyed with his mustache, glancing over at his workers. “And we’ll also require a higher pay… given the risk.”

“All right,” Everil sighed. “You will have your compensation and some guards will go with you. Speak with my seneschal and he will take care of it. We need this corrected as soon as possible, so please let him know if there is anything required to expedite your efforts.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He dipped his head at her. “We’ll get to it.”

“Thanks. Watch yourselves underground.” She reached for a handshake.

The dwarf shook on it. “Always, ser.”

Once the deal was made, Everil turned to her companions. “Come on. Let’s get on the road.”

The group trekked the rest of the way to the gates, leaving the keep behind as Everil led them through The Pilgrim’s Pass and toward the city. 

⚜⚜⚜⚜

The skies had turned into a swirling gradient of reds, yellows, and oranges as the sun began to set. They had walked for a few hours and weren’t even halfway to the city. It was a long way on foot, through grassy hills and thick forest, with the occasional farm in the distance. Fortunately, The Pilgrim’s Pass was easy enough to follow without getting lost. It traveled around Amaranthine’s coastlands and eventually circled back and went south to the Imperial Highway. But although quiet and empty at the moment, there was always the possibility of trouble. 

With her hood up, Everil observed their surroundings, searching for a good and relatively safe place to camp for the night. Mhairi traveled a step behind her, while Anders and Oghren followed from further back. 

“So… I’ve been wondering something since we left the keep,” Anders spoke up, lacing his fingers behind his head as he walked with casual strides. “Why couldn’t we use some of those perfectly good horses back at the keep? I feel we would have been near the city by now if we’d taken them.”

Everil glanced over the shoulder at the mage. “I received reports of attacks on caravans along these parts and we’re not sure if they were staged by darkspawn or bandits. I want to avoid drawing any attention to us, for now. Besides, and it's easier to remain inconspicuous while in camp if we leave the animals behind.”

“Yes, I suppose that’s true.”

“I don’t much like riding on those things anyway…” Oghren grumbled next to him. 

“Aww...” Anders smirked at him. “Are the horses too tall for you? We could find you a pony instead if you’d like.”

The dwarf sent him a dirty look. “Laugh it up…”

After an hour more, they veered off the road and to the cover of the woods, where the group set up their tents in a small clearing. There was a snap of fingers and a flame came to life over their campfire, filling the area with the scent of smoke. Anders dusted his hands with a satisfied smile, then sat on the ground beside it, using a stick to shift around the burning logs. More sticks fell onto a pile next to him, dumped by Mhairi, who stepped around the fire to sit beside it.

There was a brief silence as the wood popped, then he spoke, gazing at her, “Fate’s funny, isn’t it?”

She gave him a puzzled look. “Why?”

“Well… Just a day ago I was set to go back to the Circle of Magi and possibly face getting turned into a tranquil or be locked away in solitary confinement for weeks… or maybe months.” He let out a wry chuckle. “Now, literally overnight, I’m a Grey Warden out to save Ferelden from darkspawn. I don’t know if I should consider myself lucky or not.”

“I think luck has much more to do with it. You were given a chance few in your position would've had.”

“Hm. Yeah… I’d say if the templars hadn’t perished, I probably would be in that prison again by now.”

“Is it really that bad?” she asked with genuine curiosity. “The Circle, I mean…”

“Oh, I don’t know.” He sent her a half-smirk. “Would you like to be forced to live in a secluded place, far from everything and everyone you knew, as templars breathe down your neck and deprive you of even the most basic freedoms?”

Her brow furrowed in sympathy. “No… I suppose not.”

“And yet so many people are perfectly all right with the way we’re treated.” He gave his head a shake, then put on a lopsided grin. “At least those days are behind me now… small blessing, I guess. Even if the Grey Warden thing wasn’t really what I was expecting.” 

“Look on the bright side, you can now use your talents to serve and protect your fellow countrymen.” Mhairi smiled a little, the firelight reflecting over warm, blue eyes. “Perhaps over time, that will help change people’s minds about mages.”

“Heh… Maybe.” His gaze went up to her, a grin on his face. “You really are all about duty, aren’t you? Have you ever done anything selfish in your life?”

“Yes.” She glanced up at him. “I joined the army against my family’s wishes.” 

Anders chortled. “What a predictable answer.”

Quiet again stretched between them as they stared at the dancing flames, then the sound of footsteps came from the edge of the woods. Everil and Oghren returned to camp, each carrying hares freshly cleaned up and ready for cooking. The dwarf snickered at the two, his face still flushed from the drink. “You guys didn’t do anything naughty while we were gone, now did ya?”

Mhairi scowled at him. “What is it with you and your constant affinity toward the perverse?” 

“He’s a dirty little dwarf, that’s what,” Anders answered with a look that mirrored hers.

“And you’re a dirty little mage...” Oghren’s teasing look remained as he tossed their grub to the ground by the fire. 

“I do my best. Still, I’m no ale-swilling mountain of belches, like you.”

“And I’m no winkin’, slack-jawed coward like you,” Oghren countered, glaring at him, while beside him, their commander took a knee to prepare their meal.

“Now, now,” Everil interjected as she worked. Maker, but it was like dealing with children. “We’re all going to be traveling together from now on, so we need to get along.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Oghren grumbled as he plopped to the ground and pulled out his bladder of ale. 

The commander sighed and shook her head at him. Even while traveling with her old companions, there was always some bickering. It seemed it would be the same this time around, only she didn’t have Wynne or Leliana to help settle the disputes. 

“So you're the hero of Ferelden… Our warrior queen…” Anders said as he poked at the coals again. “All the stories I heard made me think you weren’t actually human.”

“Oh, really?” Everil pushed herself up and bent over to set the animals over the fire. “What stories were those, exactly?”

“Hmm… Let's see.” He leaned back and casually rested his arm on a knee, the earring on his right ear glistening with the flame. “I heard you defeated hundreds of blood mages and demons in the Circle of Magi with only your sword and a dagger. Walked in and did short work of the buggers without batting an eye.”

Chuckling, Everil gazed at him and smiled. “Quite the over-embellished tale. I take it you weren’t there when it happened?”

“No. I was out playing hide and seek with a few templars at the time. I was unfortunate enough to get caught and fortunate enough to be brought back to the tower after the Blight was over,” he jested smugly. 

Oghren drank from his ale, then wiped his mouth. “So you missed all the fun… What a shame.” 

“Yeah, and I think I can live with that.” Anders shrugged a shoulder, then sent their commander a curious look. “At any rate… Even the extra colorful stories have some truth to them. You did defeat all of those baddies, no? It was all the others could talk about before my last... excursion out of the tower.”

“Yes, but I had help.” She sauntered around the flames and lowered herself beside her knight. “And it wasn’t hundreds, as they claim… though I’m sure it probably felt that way to them...”

“The news about the Circle reached even Denerim…” Mhairi uttered sadly. “What those blood mages did was horrible.”

“Maybe…” Anders said with another shrug. “But that’s what happens when you lock people up for so long. Some get… desperate.” 

“I suppose that’s understandable, given your circumstances...” Everil’s expression sobered as she regarded him from across the fire. “But what Uldred and his accomplices did was unjustifiable. He took advantage of that desperation and wielded it as a weapon against the Circle and your fellow mages. Such actions will not solve your problems.”

“Yes, I suppose not.” Anders curiously tilted his head. “Hmm… All right, considering who you are… What do you think _would_ solve our problems? Do you have an opinion on that?”

Everil smirked at him. “You’re an apostate and you’re sitting here with us. That doesn’t tell you anything?” 

He blinked, a little surprised by her answer. “I guess it does… Though not everything.”

She let out a breath. “Two of my most trusted friends during my quest to end the Blight were mages. They taught me a great many things about magic and why it should be respected. They also taught me that mages can feel and bleed just as any other person.” Her smile turned nostalgic as she stared at the dancing flames, recalling similar conversations she’d shared with Wynne under the stars. “I believe everyone deserves a level of freedom. But such a change will not happen overnight, and it certainly shouldn’t be forced.” She offered him a kind smile that seemed brighter than the moon shining over them. “My king and I can’t directly influence the Chantry, but we try to help mages in different ways, as you saw back in Vigil’s Keep. Does that tell you enough?” 

Anders’ features softened. “Yes... Thank you.” 

Her words brought him a more personal sense of respect toward her. He may have heard tales about the hero of Ferelden, but he hadn’t known what kind of person she was. It seemed this woman wasn’t just beautiful on the outside, she was just as pretty on the inside. Perhaps fighting for her wasn’t so bad, after all.

⚜⚜⚜⚜

Amaranthine, or as it was called by many, the Jewel of the North. Towering fortifications surrounded the quaint, stone huts inside, their imposing size a testament of the city’s resilience throughout the centuries. Townsfolk clad in furs and leathers strolled through the streets, occasionally stopping by the many shops and stores in the market. Soldiers walked the battlements above, well-armed, their shields sporting the mighty bear of the arling’s heraldry.

A group of people gathered outside the gates with their wagons, appearing to be pleading to the guard for entry. 

“Please, ser… We only seek your protection!” a blonde woman in rags begged, holding a wailing baby in her arms.

The young man shook his head. “I’m sorry, but we cannot allow anyone into the city at this time.”

“But we have nowhere else to go!” her husband, a bearded man with black hair argued further. 

“I understand, but I cannot make any exceptions. You must—”

“What’s going on here?”

Everyone craned their heads to the four travelers approaching the gates. A hooded woman led them, but all wore the silver and blue of the Grey Wardens.

“These refugees come from a village recently attacked by darkspawn, my lady,” answered the guard. “They seek shelter within the city, but none are allowed without proper clearance. We have seen an increase in thefts and the smuggling of illegal goods, so we simply cannot risk letting more non-residents in.”

“Maker’s blood. Do we look like criminals to you!” a man interrupted, dismayed by the accusation.

“More darkspawn attacks…?” Mhairi whispered behind her. “So there’s more of them prowling the lands.”

Everil gazed at the line of ragged folk, seeing the desperation in their eyes. She closed her hands into fists and turned her steely blues to the guard. “Let them through.”

He frowned at her order. “I am sorry, ser… but Grey Warden or no, I cannot simply follow your command without knowing who you are.”

“Oooh... Bad answer,” Anders said with an amused chuckle. 

“Fair enough.” Everil reached up for her hood, sliding it off to reveal her face to him. “Will this suffice?”

“Q-Queen Everil!” Color drained from the guard’s face and he fell on one knee, bowing his head to her. “Forgive me… I—”

“It’s all right, ser.” She brought her hood back up. “I understand you were only being cautious. These people need your help, however. Let them through, please.”

“Y-Yes, your Majesty.” The man rose to his feet and addressed the refugees. “You may come in. Just… mind yourselves.”

“Oh, thank you!” the woman with the babe sobbed as she and the others bowed to her. “Maker bless you, your Majesty!”

“Take care of yourselves…” Everil uttered with a small, saddened smile. 

The caravan entered the city, relief over their dirty faces. Once they were gone, she returned her stare to the guard. “There’s an increase in darkspawn activity, so there may yet be more coming this way. I want them to be able to seek refuge here.”

He swallowed uncomfortably. “But… my lady, Bann Esmerelle’s directive was to turn them away.”

“I see…” Everil couldn’t keep her irritation from showing at his answer. That the bann would turn her back on their neighbors’ suffering was beyond her comprehension. But then again, these were once Rendon Howe’s lands, and those who allied with him may well harbor the same black hearts he did in life. “Then, I will speak with her and sort this out,” she said, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Now, I know this knowledge will ultimately spread… but don’t tell anyone else I’m here. I’m on an important Grey Warden mission that mustn't be disrupted.”

“Yes, your Majesty…” He inclined his head, then watched her and her party stride past him.

The scent of burning fireplaces, cooking meat, and baking bread wafted into their noses as their boots trekked over polished roads. The townsfolk sent them curious looks upon seeing their armor, but none stopped to look too closely. Everil kept her head down, glancing about as the crowded streets. The place reminded her of much Denerim, though it wasn’t as large and densely populated. 

“It doesn’t seem like any of these sods are bothered by the darkspawn reports,” Oghren commented while looking at a pair of men laughing off in a corner. 

“Much like it was during the Blight…” Mhairi said with a sigh. “We didn’t really feel the effects until the darkspawn were practically at our doorstep.”

Everil glanced over her shoulder. “Hopefully there won’t be a repeat of that…” 

“My but this place is huge…” Anders exclaimed, looking up at the towering walls in wonder. “Where will we even find the people you mentioned? Especially the Warden…”

“I already have an idea on where to look,” replied Everil, striding through a group of townsfolk gathered outside a vegetable shop. “We’ll have a chat with the bann first, though.”

The group walked north, eventually reaching the grand estate at the far edge of the city, where more soldiers stood guard outside. White stone walls rose over the smaller homes, rivaling even the local chantry. Flower bushes decorated the small courtyard, a tiny piece of paradise in a sea of rock and dirt.

The Warden-Commander neared one of the guards, speaking quietly and raising her head so they could take a good look at her face. The men bowed with both fists to their chests and it wasn’t long before they granted them entrance into the bann’s mansion. 

Cloaks flowing behind them, Everil and her party strode in through the long hall, following one of the estate’s servants. Delicate hands went up to the hood over her head and removed it, her eyes gazing past the elven man and to the way ahead. They stopped at the bottom of a set of stairs that arched up to the second level of the residence, while a hallway to the right led to the rest of the first floor. Oil lamps provided light, while more flowers adorned the inside of the mansion along with portraits of its residents. 

“I will notify Bann Esmerelle of your arrival, your Majesty.” The elf bowed to her and hurriedly climbed, disappearing behind a door above. 

“Be careful, Commander…” Mhairi said quietly beside her, hiding her lips behind a careful hand. “We don’t know where the bann’s loyalties lie… She was one of Rendon Howe’s closest allies, after all.”

“Yes, I’m aware of that...” Everil replied just as softly. This was the first time she’d come to visit the bann in her own home and had only seen her during some social gatherings in Highever, and most recently in a few instances at court. Not once had she spoken to her directly.

“I take it there’s a history with the previous arl?” Anders whispered upon hearing Mhairi’s warning.

Oghren grunted and crossed his arms. “Bastard killed Everil’s family and took over her lands during the Blight. Are blind to everythin’ that goes on in your own country, son?”

“Hey, I didn’t get to see nor hear much while I was on the run...”

After a few moments, footsteps echoing in the hall made them lift their heads to see an aging woman approach the railing above. Midnight hair framed a pale face, while red, painted lips spread into a stiff smile. Brown eyes lacked any warmth, the maroon eyeshadow accentuating her seemingly oppressive glare. “Queen Everil… I see you have picked up the mantle of Warden-Commander at last,” Esmerelle spoke dryly as she descended the steps, her long fingers sliding over the wooden rail. She bowed to her upon reaching the bottom, fearlessly maintaining eye contact with her. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your… unexpected visit, your Majesty?”

“I came to speak with you about the refugees coming to Amaranthine, Lady Esmerelle,” Everil answered in a firm tone, sensing the tension in the air between them. “Are you aware of the darkspawn attacks happening outside of these walls?”

“Of course, my lady... I assumed the Grey Wardens were already dealing with it.”

“We are… However, our order was dealt a heavy blow during the siege on Vigil’s Keep a few days ago.” Everil motioned to those behind her. “This is what is left of our numbers, which means our forces are stretched thin.”

“I see… How very unfortunate.” If there was any concern in those words, they could not hear it.

Everil attempted to ignore her response, trying instead to keep the conversation fruitful. “We are investigating why the darkspawn are attacking and looking for ways to stop them, which will take time. I would like for you to please shelter those who are fleeing here until the matter is resolved.”

“I am sorry, your Majesty…” Esmerelle lifted her nose. “But doing so will only further expose my great city to criminals and undesirables. We are the Jewel of the North, beautiful and immaculate, and I intend to keep it that way. Even if some… unfortunate farmers have to look for help elsewhere.”

“I understand your concern, but this is no time to worry about appearances,” Everil insisted, unable to keep the edge from her voice. “You have excellent fortifications and plenty of men and resources to keep your people safe from petty thieves. While those who have lost their homes need somewhere to go as I work toward protecting them  _ and _ you from yet another darkspawn threat.” She crossed her arms, meeting her chilling glare with her own. “And I must add that although this may be your city to rule as you see fit, I am also your arlessa and your queen. And while I do not wish to bring into question your authority over these lands, I ask that you do the right thing and help the refugees, else I will be forced to make you comply through other means.”

There was a brief pause as they stared at each other, both refusing to look away.

The three other Wardens observed anxiously from the sidelines, looking between the two iron-willed women. 

“Very well…” Esmerelle finally said, her displeasure palpable. “Against my better judgment, I shall comply with your request.”

Everil’s features remained neutral. “Thank you. The crown will make this worth your while when this is over.”

“I live only to serve…” uttered the old woman, who then lifted an inquisitive eyebrow. “If you don’t mind me asking… How long will her Majesty remain within the city?”

“It depends on what we find during our investigation. Don’t concern yourself with my presence here. My priority lies in stopping the darkspawn, not in tending to political matters.” She relaxed her arms and gave her a polite dip of the head. “Now, if you'll excuse me, I shall take my leave. Good day, Bann Esmerelle.”

“Yes…” The bann bowed stiffly to her. “Good day... my lady.”

The other Wardens sent her wary looks before they followed their commander, who hid her head under the hood. The guards once again opened the way for them and they left the estate. And as the gates swung shut with a resounding bang behind them, they did not see the raw malice that descended upon the bann’s withered face.

  
  



	14. In Search of the lost Warden

⚜

  
  
  
  


_T_ _he market was bustling with activity_ as Amaranthinians strolled from shop to shop. The merchants hollered their prices and beckoned potential customers, while the city guard kept careful watch from the sides. The afternoon sun shone brightly overhead, adding its warmth to the busy streets as the scent of sweat, leather, and dirt saturated the area. The Wardens squeezed through the crowd, their azure garbs contrasting with the drab browns and grays those around them wore. And yet they went ignored as the people focused their attention on the goods for sale or on their coin pouches.

The group stopped at a few stands in search for directions to their destination. Their Warden-Commander did most of the talking, all the while keeping her face hidden from view. They never lingered for long, moving on before anyone could ask questions.

Still following their leader, Anders polished the red apple he’d purchased over a sleeve, then took a crunchy bite before releasing a pleased hum. “Hmm… It’s so nice to be able to walk through a market and not have everyone go ‘Is that a staff or a walking stick?’, ‘Why do you have a staff, mister?’. And my favorite, ‘Aah! Oh, no! Somebody call the templars!’”

Oghren gobbled up a bun and drank a swig of ale before wiping his mouth. “Ever thought of giving up the sodded thing then? You might as well have a giant sign that says ‘Look! I’m a mage!’ hanging from your neck.”

“You don’t understand, my crude, ill-mannered friend…” Anders swallowed and chomped on the fruit again, talking while he chewed. “We use these fancy, overgrown sticks to channel our spells. They’re actually quite handy. Not to mention fashionable… You should see the one First Enchanter Irving sports. I may not like the guy, but he sure knows how to pick his staffs.”

“Hehe…” Oghren snickered. “Pick his staffs…”

“Ugh…” Anders shot him a revolted glare. “There you go again. Making everything I say out to be something sick.”

“Hey, you said it first...” The dwarf chortled wickedly and let out a resounding belch that drew a few surprised looks.

“You're disgusting…”

“Aw, thank you. Always great to hear a compliment.”

Mhairi glanced over a shoulder and hopelessly shook her head, sighing at the two.

Soon, they found the place they were looking for—a stone hut with the sign that read Merchant's Guild at the front. Everil opened the door first and she and the others went into the modest shop. A heavy-built man saw them enter and smiled, waving them over. “Welcome, Grey Wardens! I heard there were a few of you in town, but I almost didn’t believe it. With the attack on the keep and all…”

“Mervis, is it? We actually came at your request for assistance, ser,” Everil replied as they came near him. “You told Mistress Woolsey that your caravans are being attacked along The Pilgrim’s Pass. My Wardens and I have come to solve your problem and find out who’s behind it.”

“W-Wait a minute…” Mervis blinked and leaned over the counter, trying to peer under the hood. “Maker’s breath… Are you—?”

She brought a finger to her rosy lips and hushed him, glancing at the customers browsing his goods nearby. She spoke more quietly then, smiling warmly at him. “I am. But let’s leave that between you and me, shall we?”

“Y-Yes, your Ma—I mean… Grey Warden.” He laughed nervously, scratching the back of his neck. “Uhm… Yes, I’m Mervis and I run the Merchant’s guild here in Amaranthine. Many of my fellow merchants have lost both men and coin during these attacks. And we don’t know who’s responsible because there have been no survivors left. It’s horrible, my lady. Truly terrible.”

“Do you know the specific location where this is happening? Or perhaps have a clue on where they may be taking place?”

“Yes. We think they’re focused around the Wending Wood. Strange really, as the place is supposed to be almost sacred to us Andrastians.” He let out a sad sigh. “But then again, there are so many wicked souls in this world…”

“On that, we can agree…” Everil let a corner of her lips curl up.

“The Wending Wood is far south of Amaranthine, Commander,” Mhairi chimed in, also keeping her voice down. “It’s quite a long journey on foot. I suggest we finish our business here and regroup in Vigil’s Keep before we head there.”

“Agreed,” she replied with a nod, then addressed the merchant once more. “Thank you for the information. We will notify you once we figure out what’s behind this.”

“Thank you, my lady.” He bowed his head with a fist over his heart. “And may the Maker watch over you.”

“Thank you, ser.” Everil also dipped her head, then gazed at the others before heading back to the door. “Let’s go. We still have a few others to seek out.”

⚜⚜⚜⚜

A fireplace burned in a corner as a bard’s music and the chatter of men filled the tavern. The door to the place opened and the four Wardens walked in, drawing a few curious glances. Everil went straight to the innkeeper behind the counter, who folded his arms as they approached. 

Oghren grinned, looking about. “Now this is my kind of place…”

“Welcome to The Crown and The Lion,” said the older, bearded fellow. “We heard about the attack at the keep. Almost thought there were no Wardens left there.”

“We’re still around,” Everil replied with a smile. “We’re looking for one of our own, actually. A man by the name of Kristoff.”

“Ah, that one… Aye, he was here some nights ago. He’d paid for a few weeks' worth of room and board, then a few days later, he left in a hurry and hasn’t come back.”

She furrowed her eyebrows. If he left, then that complicated matters. There was no telling where he went without more information. “Did he happen to say where he was going?”

“No. Not a word.”

“If he paid for room long term, perhaps some of his things are still here?” Mhairi offered, coming to stand next to her. “He could have left something that can give us a clue.”

“That’s a good idea.” Everil returned her gaze to the innkeeper. “Can I have the key to Kristoff’s room? It’s imperative that we find him.”

He shook his head. “I’m sorry, lass, but I can’t just hand over a key to one of my customers’ chambers… Who are you exactly?”

“I would be his commander, ser,” she replied, hands on her hips. 

His eyebrows shot up in surprise. “His commander? As in… the Commander of the Grey?”

“Yep.” Anders smirked at him. “Might want to cough up that key now.”

“Ah. O-Of course.” The innkeeper took an item from the shelf behind him, then handed it to her, bowing his head. “Here. I apologize, my lady.”

“No need.” She stashed the key in her pocket, then glanced about the room. “I have one more question… Have you seen two hunters boast about some entrance to the Deep Roads they found? One of them goes by the name of Colbert. I need to speak to them about it.”

“Yes. They come for drinks every night after their hunt.”

“Every night?” Everil crossed her arms and sighed. “All right, it seems we’ll have to wait for them… I want to reserve two rooms, please. We won’t be able to travel back to the keep in the dark.”

“Great plan, Evy!” Oghren exclaimed, smiling ear to ear. “Might as well have some fun while we’re here.”

“Aren’t you drunk enough already?” Mhairi questioned with an arched eyebrow. 

He chuckled roughly. “There’s no such thing as ‘drunk enough’ for me, sweet cheeks. I’m an overachiever.” 

“Very well, my lady. You will have my best rooms.” He cleared his throat, taking another set of keys and placing them on the counter. “They’re on the house… For the misunderstanding earlier.”

Everil produced her pouch of coin. “It's all right. I’ll pay for them. I would appreciate it if you kept my stay here under wraps, however.”

“Yes, of course.” 

After paying for the rooms and receiving directions to them, the Wardens headed for the stairs and climbed to the second floor. Everil followed the hallway, heading for Kristoff’s door first. They walked into the room, finding it predictably empty, though the fireplace was still alight. It was a modest chamber, with a small bed, a sitting area, and a bath. 

"It seems Kristoff did leave some things behind…” Everil uttered as she crossed the place to a map spread over the wall. She inspected it, seeing there were marks on it. “A few locations are crossed off… But then this place called the Blackmarsh is circled.”

“That’s where he went.” Mhairi flipped through a book the Warden left in the sitting area, then shut it and showed it to her. “This is his journal, Commander. He's investigating darkspawn activity in those parts.”

“I’ve heard the Blackmarsh is some… creepy, dangerous place everyone with a bit of sense avoids at all costs.” Anders smiled nervously, folding his arms. “But we’re not going to do that, are we?”

“No.” Everil stepped to Mhairi and took the journal from her hand. “We won’t go unprepared, however. We’ll return to the keep tomorrow, as planned, stock up then set out to the Blackmarsh first thing. Kristoff is on his own and possibly battling the enemy alone. We must go help him.”

“Sounds sodding good to me,” Oghren agreed as he rummaged through the nightstand by the bed, his back to them. 

“What are you looking for?” Anders asked with a sigh. “We know where we have to go. There’s no need for you to keep putting your filthy hands all over the man’s things.”

“Ah, here it is!” Oghren pulled out a bottle with a dark liquid and uncorked it, smelling the heat inside. 

“More alcohol? Maker's breath, do you like… have a mabari’s nose for the stuff?”

“Grey Wardens make their own booze, ya see. 'Cus the normal kind doesn’t do it for them. So I figured our friend would have some of that somewhere.” 

Mhairi sighed. “You have a serious problem, do you know that?” 

“Oh, pull those sticks out of yer arses, will ya? You lot will thank me later,” he said while stashing his prize. 

  
  


⚜⚜⚜⚜

Night fell over Amaranthine as torches lit up the still lively streets. The music in the tavern grew livelier as the patrons drank, danced, and laughed. The Wardens sat in a table at a far corner, away from most of the other occupants. Oghren slammed his ale mug down and called on a barmaid, who waved and hurried to fetch him another.

Everil was leaning back in her chair, arms and legs crossed whilst keeping her head down. She was listening to the conversations going on around them. There were some talks around farming and the city guards, but nothing yet around darkspawn. _I suppose even those who faced them would avoid the topic when they're trying to forget…_

 _“_ So you have a child?” Anders asked their dwarven companion, leaning forward with a mug of his own in hand. “And you left both the mother and the child behind to join the order?”

“I don't wanna talk about it,” Oghren grumbled just as another pint was set before him. 

“Such a horrible thing to do…” Mhairi reproached with a shake of her head. “Why leave them?”

“I ain’t one to stay in one place for too long. That’s about the only answer you’ll get out of me. Now, quit judgin'.” The dwarf knocked back the drink, some of the foam trickling down the side of his mouth. He slammed it down, then burped before wiping his mustache. 

Both Mhairi and Anders curled their noses in disgust. 

Oghren glanced up at Everil, taking notice of her silence. “Why don’t ye ask the commander about her family? I’m sure she’ll be happy to oblige. Women love chatting about diaper changin’, feeding, burping... and all that nonsense... ” 

“What, you have a babe too, Commander?” Anders asked with a grin. 

Everil smiled a little. “I have a daughter. Only a few months old.”

“Ooh… So why did you leave the palace? Wouldn’t it have been easier to send someone else to do the dirty work?”

She released a small sigh. “There was a… personal matter I needed to handle before the keep was attacked. Now, I believe it’s connected to what’s going on with the darkspawn around these lands.”

“Well, you would have had to come anyway, since the Wardens were pretty much gone when you arrived.” Anders took a drink. “No rest for the wicked, I suppose.”

“That’s right…”

The doors to the tavern opened, drawing their attention away from their conversation. Two men entered, a male elf with blond hair and a brown-haired man, both covered in dirt and spotted with what looked like dried blood. They carried bows on their backs and knives at their hips, their boots also soiled with mud. The man raised an arm and called a barmaid over as they sat themselves at a table by the fire. 

Everil glanced up at the innkeeper, who met her gaze from afar while gesturing towards the new arrivals. “All right, those are the guys we need to talk to,” she told her fellow Wardens and rose from her chair. “You can remain here while I get the information we need from them.”

Mhairi stood, putting on a firm look. “I’ll come with you, Commander… just in case.” 

The women headed to the men, leaving the two other Wardens where they sat. 

Anders chuckled, resting his cheek on a fist. “She looks so cute when she has that no-nonsense look on her face…” 

“Who, Evy?” Oghren asked with a scowl. “Watch it, son! She’s taken! You make a move on her and I’ll—”

“No, you fool! Mhairi!” Anders sent him a glare. “Do you honestly think I’d be stupid enough to hit on the king’s wife? I mean, don’t get me wrong, she’d be worth getting drawn and quartered, but I’d rather not risk it.”

“Ah, good… You just seem like the type of pervert who hits on everything that moves.” Oghren chuckled and had another gulp of ale.

“It takes one to know one, dwarf…” Anders retorted. “Only, I’m much more subtle and less of a pig about it.”

“Whatever, twinkle-fingers.”

The women neared the hunters' table, and Everil tapped the brown-haired man's shoulder. “Excuse me.”

“Yeah?” A lecherous smirk spread over his face upon seeing them, his eyes traveling up their curves and to their faces. “How can I help ya, you lovely Grey Wardens? Did you come to spend some time with old Colbert?”

Everil folded her arms, gazing down her nose at him. “Take a good look at us. Do we really look like we’re here to ‘spend some time’ with you?”

He chuckled and drank from his mug. “Nae. But it was worth a shot…”

“We’re here because we heard you stumbled into darkspawn while on one of your hunting trips.” The Warden-Commander pulled up a chair and sat with its back to her chest, resting her arms over it. “We need to know what you found and where. And I want details, please.”

“All right… I figured a Warden would one day come knockin’…” Colbert set down his cup, placing elbows on the table. “Micah and I were out huntin’ near Knotwood Hills… this buck—he was a great one that one—fled into those parts and led us into what looked like… a mine of sorts. It looked like someone had done a great deal of diggin’ there!” He laughed a little. “Micah here fell in. Let out a scream like you wouldn’t believe! Funniest thing I ever saw.”

“Hmph…” The elf sent him an irritated glare at the mockery, then addressed her. “The chasm was probably a few miles wide, about two or three miles deep. Had some dwarven ruins in it.”

“At any rate, I went down to help him back out… and it was then that we saw 'em.” Colbert leaned in, his fear riddled expression emphasizing his tale. “A large group of darkspawn… All marching through the chasm, arms at the ready, as if they were heading to battle. And it seemed they were in a hurry or somethin' because they completely ignored us. Just went on their merry way without sparing us a glance.”

“That's odd…” Mhairi frowned, glancing down at her. “Darkspawn would have normally torn them apart…”

Colbert slapped his knee. “Hah! You're tellin' us! We nearly soiled our drawers, we did!”

“You mean, _you_ almost did…” Micah muttered, again glaring at his companion. 

Reaching into her side-pouch, Everil pulled out a folded map and a piece of charcoal and placed them on the table. “We have to investigate the place, so please mark the chasm's exact location there.”

“You got it." He opened the paper and searched over it for the spot, pausing to grin at her. “Say… Will we get some sort of compensation for the information? It was mighty important for you…”

Everil sighed and put some coins down. “Will five silvers do?”

“Aye… That'll get us a few rounds for sure!” He grabbed them and slid them into his pocket before picking up the charcoal and crossing an x on the map.

The Warden swept the map from him, going to her feet. "A pleasure doing business with you. Enjoy the rest of your night." And she spun about, striding back to their table while the other one closely tailed her.

Colbert kept his eyes on her for a while. "Say… Didn't that lass look sort of familiar to you?"

"Hrn." Micah shrugged and downed his drink.

⚜⚜⚜⚜

The music and chatter coming from the tavern reached through the floorboards in their chamber as Everil and Mhairi walked inside. It was a nice, but small room, with two beds, a fireplace, a sitting area, and dining table. A steaming bath sat in a corner, tempting them to soak in its warmth with its lovely scent. 

Everil shuffled to her bed and tossed her things on the ground beside it before flopping onto the mattress. She took off her gloves, set them aside, then worked on her boots while Mhairi also claimed the bed next to hers. 

“Hopefully Anders and Oghren will not cause trouble…” Mhairi muttered tiredly, doing away with her gauntlets. 

“I’m sure they’ll be fine. Oghren may be a loud-mouthed oaf, but he’s got a few screws still in that head of his,” Everil jested and rose to remove the rest of her armor, leaving her shirt and trousers.

She sent her a curious look. “How do you know the dwarf, Commander?” 

“We fought together during the Blight. He helped me gain dwarven support and battle the archdemon at the end.” Sauntering to the fire, Everil threw in another log and picked up the poker to rearrange the coals.

“Oh… I didn’t expect that. Somehow I thought you just met him at a bar somewhere during your travels…”

“Well, that’s not too far-fetched.” Everil chortled again and spun to look at her. “Would you like to use the bath first, or can I?”

Mhairi smiled at her. “You go ahead, Commander. It would be proper of me to let you use it first.” 

“Always so formal…” The queen went to the stone tub and slid up her shirt without shame, revealing her bare back. “You should try to relax, Ser Mhairi. We’re sisters in arms now.”

A little color painted Mhairi’s cheeks as she watched her discard the pieces of clothing. She couldn’t help but quietly admire the scars. Those silent trophies that spoke of experience beyond her age. Maker knew how many battles she’d seen in her brief life, but that she’d survived each one spoke of both skill and resilience she hoped to emulate. “It’s difficult for me not to be formal around you, my lady. I hope you can forgive me,” she said with a slight smile.

“There’s nothing to forgive.” Everil lowered herself into the warm waters and let out a blissful sigh, the heat soothing her tired muscles. She grinned at her whilst washing her shoulders, a teasing glint in her eye. “But I will get you to loosen up eventually... You’ll see.” 

Mhairi crossed her arms and arched an eyebrow. “Is that a challenge, Commander?”

She shrugged. “Maybe…”

The knight half-smiled. Every conversation they ever shared had been purely professional, either around tasks she'd given her as her royal guard or about the Grey Wardens. And as a woman who struggled through a world of men to elevate herself into knighthood, protocol was hard-wired into her brain. But it seemed the queen wasn't as strict and by the book as she thought, so she would have to adjust to the changes. To get used to being herself again. A concept she'd almost forgotten.


	15. A Son's Grudge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys. I actually found this one challenging to write... I hope the addition of Everil's memories near the middle doesn't affect the flow of things. I did tell you she and Alistair would interact, though in a different way. Tell me your thoughts! Thank you! - Nardhwen

⚜

_The stars shone brightly over the black tapestry of the evening sky_ , clashing with the glare of the campfires peppering the clearing where the king’s soldiers rested for the night. They chatted and laughed by the warmth of the flames, while a few patrolled the camp, keeping constant watch. The smell of cooking meat and stews drifted through the area, combined with pinewood and dirt as the men prepared their meals.

The door to a bright, yellow tent flapped open as Alistair emerged from within, golden armor chiming with each step. He headed for the fire closest to him, where Fergus and Ser Donall sat on two of the three logs they'd set up, also in armor, eating some wild chicken and drinking wine while making idle conversation. 

“So you've never been to Val Royeaux?” Fergus asked after swallowing his last bite.

“No, my lord. Arl Eamon would occasionally visit Orlais but would stay near the countryside with his wife. And even then his visits were few and far in between." Donall smiled lightly. “You know how it is… Some of our fellow countrymen care little for the optics.”

“That’s putting it lightly,” Alistair added as he lowered himself onto the third log. “It will take a long time for the Empire to earn Ferelden's trust or even just a modicum of it.”

“What do you really think about Orlais, sire?” asked Ser Donall, offering him the wine bladder. “Do you believe their last visit to the palace was a sincere one?”

“Honestly?” Alistair took it and drank before licking the red from his lips. “I don't like their politics one bit. They smile and laugh and lie to your face while hiding a knife behind their backs. Not to mention they think themselves superior to us. As if we're a bunch of barbarians playing at being civilized.” He huffed and shook his head. “However, despite the opinion her nobles hold, Empress Celene seems to be fairly open to improving things between us. So yes. I believe their visit was sincere. Though it wasn't without the usual drama…”

Fergus leaned forth with a hand on his thigh. “So that's where Bann Caldwell got that nonsense he was spewing…” 

“Yes. The Marquis claimed on behalf of the empress that some of Ferelden's lands still belong to Orlesian nobles and that I should allow them to reclaim them. It was one of her… requests.”

He knitted his eyebrows. “That’s a bold claim to make. Would the empress truly risk your ire in the middle of negotiations?”

“You know, I wondered about that…” Alistair rested his elbows on his knees while glaring at the fire. “It just doesn't sound like something someone as smart as her would do. Though it's hard to tell for certain... Orlesians  _ love _ wearing masks, both literally and figuratively.” He sighed and shook his head. “But this thing with Loren and the other nobles started before I met with the Orlesian envoy... They must truly believe Orlais is controlling my court. Which is a ridiculous notion, but what happened with the Marquis probably fueled their delusions and gave them more ammunition against me.”

Ser Donell moodily poked at the coals. “Fools. Inciting civil war over some rumors… Won't that only worsen things for their people? And for what? Do they intend to put someone else on the throne?”

“I don’t know...” The king laced his fingers at his chin and narrowed his stare. “Most of Ferelden is on my side. So they’re already risking too much for whatever it is they’re trying to accomplish.”

“If you ask me, these traitors are just opportunists. Just as Howe was when he killed my family… ” Fergus’s expression darkened at the thought as he chewed the rest of his chicken leg, then tossed the bone into the flames. He swallowed and wiped his mouth before taking a drink from his wine. “Men like them… They don’t care about who they hurt or who they trample over so long as they get what they want in the end. They deserve to be punished.”

Alistair gazed at him from the corner of his eye, noticing the contempt drenching his words. 

“I agree, my lord…” Ser Donall rose from his seat and patted his shoulder. “We will bring them all to justice soon, I’m sure.” He then looked to the king. “Now, I shall retire for the night. Rest well, both of you.”

“You too, Ser Donall,” Alistair answered, dipping his head. “Good night.”

The knight-commander bowed to him, then strode off toward his tent, only a few feet from theirs. Once he left, Alistair turned his attention to Fergus, seeing his shoulders slumped and the shadow looming over his usually calm features. “Are you all right?” he quietly asked.

His brother-in-law gazed at him and forced a smile. “Of course. Why do you ask?”

“Because it sounds to me like you’re angrier at everything that’s happening than even I am—which is quite the impressive feat, by the way.” Alistair grinned teasingly at him. “Not only that, but I’ve seen that exact look on your sister’s face whenever she tries to fool me into believing she’s fine. And trust me… it never works.”

Fergus chuckled lightly. “You’re very perceptive, your Majesty.”

“Nah… I’ve just had a lot of practice. That and you Couslands aren’t as good at hiding your emotions as you think you are."

The teyrn shook his head with another laugh. “All right, I’ll give you that one.” He blew out a breath and again observed the fire. “I just… I can't stop thinking about my wife and son. It's been nearly two years and I still see them when I close my eyes. They're in my dreams and in my thoughts... I know they're gone, but every time I think of them, I can't help but wish I could have been there to save them.”

Quietly, Alistair listened, sympathy in his eyes. He could relate to his ongoing grief after Duncan and his Warden brothers perished. He still wished he could have been able to fight alongside them back in Ostagar. His mind still occasionally drifted through the possibilities. Wondering if maybe he could have saved his mentor that fateful night. But there was nothing to do about it now. And he knew that if he'd been there with him, he likely would have perished too. 

“And now those bloody bastards are threatening your rule, along with the lives of both my little sister and my niece… the only family I have left.” He closed his hands into fists, a scowl on his face. “And while Everil may be a force to be reckoned with, some men can be more cunning and dangerous than the darkspawn… or even an archdemon… Especially when they organize against you.”

The king’s ambers softened, fully understanding his trepidation. He'd been thinking about the same thing since it all began. “Don't worry, Fergus… If I get even the slightest indication that they're no longer safe in Ferelden, I will have Eamon send Eleanor away on the first ship to the Free Marches and Everil will follow as soon as she's done in Amaranthine.” His gaze hardened. “I would die first before I let anything happen to them…”

“I know…” Fergus sighed with a half-smile. “I hope you don't think I was questioning your ability to protect your family… I just…”

“No, it’s fine. I understand. It’s difficult losing those you love. And then when you do, you hold on to what's left even more…”

“Right…” he huffed, running a hand through his hair. “I just hope Caldwell will reveal the information we need.”

“He will.” Again Alistair stared at the burning coals, the firelight reflecting over his eyes. “And when he does, we’ll end this before it starts…”

⚜⚜⚜⚜

The crunching of boots over gravel disrupted the quiet around them as the Wardens trekked through the Pilgrim’s Pass back to Vigil’s Keep. Birds chirped overhead, as the afternoon sun showered their path. Everil again led the way while Mhairi walked close behind, their other two companions tailing them. 

“Ugh… I think that’s the most I’ve eaten in my entire life…” Anders grumbled, nursing his stomach. 

“You’ll have an increased appetite thanks to the taint,” Everil said over her shoulder. “So expect that to happen from here on out.”

He groaned. “Ah, great… Hopefully, I won’t get fat.”

Everil smiled. “I’m sure you’ll be fine."

“Just another excuse to stuff my face with gravy. I’ll take it,” Oghren joined in, snickering.

“Of course you would say that…” Anders glanced at the dwarf, then lacing his fingers behind his head, cast a scrutinizing look at the back of Everil’s head. “So... what else should we be aware of, Commander? Any other marvelous little secrets? Because it seems to me like you haven’t told us everything yet.”

The Warden-Commander turned away from them, her posture stiff. The task of recruiting new Wardens was riddled with deceit and never did she imagine herself on the other end of those lies. Even now, after being one of them for so long, she occasionally resented how easily Duncan hid the price of this curse when he struck that deal with her father that fateful night in which a traitor massacred her family. 

There had been an actual possibility that Fergus would have perished in Ostagar, and she during the Joining, which meant her bloodline would have ended. But the Warden hadn't cared. His mission had been to gather as many able warriors as possible to end the Blight, even if that meant keeping the risks from a dying man. Now, she was in his shoes. She had recruited these people to use against the darkspawn as Duncan had done her. But even while understanding how necessary their order was, and how easily those traveling with her had volunteered to join, there was still guilt in her. Because she was sure they probably wouldn’t have followed her had they known everything they would lose from the start.

Mhairi walked closer to her. “Commander?” 

A long breath escaped Everil. “There are quite a few things you’re not told when you join the Wardens. Things that would drive away potential recruits if they find out, so the order keeps them secret. They are not topics we like to discuss either… I for one didn't find out about them all until I asked Alistair after Duncan died.”

“See, now you’re making me nervous...” Anders muttered, arching an eyebrow. “What are these secrets you’re referring to?” 

“All right…” Everil inhaled deeply. “The taint won’t only alter your appetite, it will also alter your dreams. You will have nightmares about the darkspawn all your life… though they are not truly nightmares. They are visions. Our minds are connected to theirs through the taint in our blood. Thankfully, you can build the ability to block them after a while. But they’ll always be there.”

“Oohhh…” Oghren ran a hand down his beard. “So that’s what those are…”

Everil half-smiled. “Dwarves don't have dreams, right? I imagine that was disconcerting for you, old friend.”

He waved her off. “Nah… My drunkness made it feel like I was awake. I thought I was down in the Deep Roads again.”

“What else happens to Wardens?” Mhairi probed further. 

She sighed, returning her stare to the road. “Grey Wardens, we… We don’t live long lives. We’ll die in about thirty years from the moment we become what we are. I’m sorry...”

An uncomfortable silence stretched on between them, their footsteps, and the chime of their armor the only noise. Then came Oghren’s gruff voice, “Well, ain’t that a bitch…”

Anders laughed wryly, scratching his cheek with a finger. “I can see why the order is so secretive… Saying ‘hey, join the club! Come for darkspawn-slaying, stay for a premature death!’ isn’t exactly the best strategy to draw people in.”

“Yes… It’s not very inviting,” Mhairi agreed with a slight smile of her own. “Seems keeping such things under wraps is necessary. The Grey Wardens are needed to protect mankind… if you tell others the truth, they will never be able to replenish their numbers to keep up the fight.”

“That’s how I saw it when I found out about it…” Everil glanced at her. “I wasn’t happy… but I understood that Duncan had little choice at the time.”

After two days of travel, the Warden-Commander and her three companions arrived at Vigil’s Keep. They could hear the banging of hammers on wood as the men helped rebuild the huts destroyed during the siege. Some stopped to look their way, seeing them walk through the grounds and to the bailey. Already, the seneschal awaited them at the entrance to the keep, wearing his steel armor and with his hands at his back. 

“Welcome back, Commander.” Varel bowed, then glanced at the others. “I take it you did not find Kristoff?"

“No, but he left us a lead as to where he went,” Everil replied and followed him up the stairs. “We will journey to the Blackmarsh tomorrow… He has set off to investigate darkspawn activity there." 

“I see… The Blackmarsh is a dangerous place filled with legends of demons and wandering spirits… You best be prepared."

“That's why we're here.” She smiled at him while they trekked through the courtyard. “Is there anything I need to be aware of?”

“Actually there is.” He paused in his steps, facing her. “A few of the lords and ladies of Amaranthine have heard of your presence in the keep. They wish to come meet with you.”

“I'm not here for banquets or social gatherings, Varel.” Everil stepped past him, sighing inwardly. Word spread faster than she would have wanted and there was too much at stake for political matters to get in the way of her quest.

“I understand, Commander.” Varel went after her, picking up the pace to keep up with her. “But they're concerned over the emergence of darkspawn in their lands. They want your guidance on how to deal with them and their people's fears. And allow me to say that this would be a great opportunity to hear more about matters relevant to your investigation and the state of the arling.”

They stopped once more and Everil let out a breath while turning to face him. “Very well… Arrange for a meeting. I don't know how long it will take for us to finish our task in the Blackmarsh, but a week or two should be enough time for us to return… provided there are no setbacks.”

He dipped his head. “Understood, my lady.”

They continued on their way, entering through the grand gates and into the keep's walls. And none noticed the hooded figure lurking atop a railing overseeing the courtyard. 

⚜⚜⚜⚜

Night came quickly after she spent the rest of the day handling task assignments for the men and making preparations for their next trip. They needed better camping equipment and more provisions, enough for several days out in a desolate place and with unknown dangers. They would take the horses this time to help carry their things and make it to their lost Warden faster. She hoped that they would not only find him but also learn more about what was causing the darkspawn to remain on the surface.

Reaching up, Everil undid her bun and let her long, dark locks fall down her back. She'd removed her armor and bathed, opting to wear a more comfortable nightgown that evening instead of her usual leggings and shirt. She padded to the open window near her bed and gazed up at the inky skies. A wistful smile graced her lips as she reminisced of her babe’s innocent giggles. Of her adorable, toothless grin, and of her tiny hands touching her face.

There was no telling how long it would take her to bring order back to Amaranthine. It could be weeks. Months… Regardless, she was missing out on time with her child. Who knew how much she'd grown in her absence? If she’d said her first words yet. If she’d crawled or attempted to take her first step. Everil gulped down the knot in her throat, her fists closing tight. If only she and Alistair could have lived normal lives after the Blight… But they were destined to carry the burdens of duty and leadership wherever they went, for the rest of their lives.

Slowly, she shook her head and spun about, sauntering to her bed. She slid into the covers and lay upon her side, taking the pillow beside her and hugging it to her chest with a sigh. Seeing the other side empty brought echoes of her husband's kisses. Of the sensation of his strong arms around her body whilst they slept. Holding her tight and shielding her from the darkness in her dreams. 

_Maker, I miss both of them so much…_ Her eyes slid shut and she exhaled. Everil remained still, letting her mind drift through memories of their past.

_A baby’s cooing danced into her ears as Everil awakened from a brief afternoon nap. She had fallen asleep with her daughter upon the bed, having missed a few hours of slumber the night before. Her face scrunched up upon noticing her gone from her arms, but before panic could grip her, a familiar voice spoke lovingly to the child. “Did you know… that you’re the most adorable thing I ever saw?”_

_A tiny babble followed._

_Everil gazed toward the sound to see Alistair pacing about the chamber, carefully holding the bundled up babe. She could have let him know she was awake, but lay back down with a smile instead, choosing to listen to his playful banter with their eight-week-old._

_“Yes, I know I have said it hundreds of times, but I can't help it. You’re as cute as a nug.”_

_The babe made a raspberry sound with her tongue._

_He laughed lightly. “All right, you’re much cuter...”_

_Eleanor squealed, earning another chuckle._

_“Maker... I’m going to have to scare away your suitors when you're older, won’t I?” A sigh escaped him. “At least it will be easier with this crown on my head. I can have them brought to me, then I'll pin them with a dirty glare. Maybe even narrow my eyes a little to add a dramatic touch. And then I'll tell them—” He deepened his voice. “‘So you're the scoundrel trying to steal my sweet child’s heart! I, the King of Ferelden, banish you to the royal stables, where you are to shovel manure until you can smell nothing but their stench for weeks!’” He snickered at her. “Oh, it'll be great. I bet the look on their faces will be priceless.”_

_The babe cooed again, then babbled at him._

_“Hey, you're the one who got my good looks. I'll just be doing my civic duty as your father.”_

_"A little overprotective, aren't we, love?"_

_Alistair turned to Everil and smiled. She was sitting up now, staring tenderly at him. “I was joking…” He went to her and lowered himself upon the edge of the mattress. “Mostly…”_

_Chortling a bit, she reached for the babe, gently stroking her head with the backs of her fingers. “She’ll be all right.”_

_He took her hand in his and gently pressed his lips to her knuckles. “Yes, she will be… She’s got a bit of both of us... And we’re resilient, you and I.”_

_“Yes, we are.” Everil cupped his cheek, gazing into his amber pools. “Especially when we're together…”_

_Tenderness softened his gaze. “Definitely…”_

Breathing softly, Everil let the pictures flow like a tranquil river. She may not have them beside her, but they were with her. Always in her mind. Driving her until she could complete her mission and go home. There may be some time lost between them, but at least they would be safe again. And that was all that mattered to her. 

⚜⚜⚜⚜

Shadows shifted within the keep's torch lit hallways as a cloaked figure slithered through the passages, dressed in black and with a bow and quiver strapped to his back. The man moved like a shade, steps silent as those of a cat prowling in the dark. He was no trained assassin, and yet he’d managed to make it this far. The darkspawn attack greatly weakened the fortress’s security, which made it much easier for him to pass by the few guards undetected. It was a blessing for him, yet rotten luck for the one who was to be his target. 

He reached a T corridor and pressed his back against the wall as two more soldiers shuffled past without detecting him. A smirk spread over his lips and he kept moving, crossing the distance to the grand double doors leading into the Warden-Commander’s bed-chamber. He drew his dagger and reached for the handle.

The light from a fireplace greeted him as he entered, though it was dim enough to grant him some cover. He strode carefully, making not a single sound as he approached the Warden's bed. Her breathing was even and soft. She was asleep, just as he needed. His steps took him around the bed and closer to her, measured and steady as those of a predator nearing its prey. 

He gripped his weapon with both hands and set his jaw before slowly raising it above his head. 

Everil rolled over onto her back and the moonlight bathed her fair features, causing the man to halt. Seconds ticked by as he stared, caught off guard by her beauty, his grip on the dagger faltering.

Her eyes flew open.

In a blur, she kicked upward, knocking the dagger from his hands and rolling away from him and onto her feet. She took her sword from atop the dresser and aimed it at him. “Who are you!”

“Someone whose life you destroyed!” he shouted, leaping onto the bed while drawing his blade. He jumped at her and swung, their weapons colliding with a resounding clank. The man parried aside her sword and struck again. She blocked, he attacked once more, forcing her back a few steps. 

With a huff, Everil ducked and swung up with both hands, deflecting a sideward slash. Her leg shot forth, aiming at his stomach, but his reflexes were good. He caught her foot with one hand, then shoved her up. Everil jumped and backflipped as he slashed the air inches from her. He closed in and swung, she leaned to evade, and he slashed again. 

Everil grunted and struck at his hit, deflecting it. “I don’t even know you!”

They locked blades, their forces meeting in a stalemate as he pushed against her. She gritted her teeth, arms quivering. And he overpowered her, driving her weapon aside before his arm shot out to grab the front of her robe. She grunted as her back hit the wall, his blade inches from her throat. And he glowered at her, his nose nearly touching hers while his blue eyes bore into her. “Remember now, Cousland!?”

Shock dawned on her upon finally seeing his face under that hood. She’d seen him many times before, though he’d been much younger and without the hatred in his stare. “Nathaniel Howe…”

“Ah, so you do remember me. I thought you had forgotten all about me and my family after your husband so kindly stripped us of our title and our lands, _your Majesty_.” His voice dripped venom, contempt lacing every word. “We are pariahs now. And it’s all because of you.”

“Rendon Howe killed my family...” Everil hissed bitterly, her icy glare sharp and fearless. “So don’t you dare act the victim!”

“Your family was about to sell us to the Orlesians! My father did what he had to do to protect Ferelden and _you_ killed him!”

“My parents served the crown! Howe spread those lies and tried to advance himself by trampling over their corpses! He murdered my parents! Killed my brother’s wife and son without remorse! And he took our lands by force while our troops fought beside the king!” Everil’s icy orbs pierced through his, her voice quivering with rage. “He was a snake… A coward without honor! His own hunger for power killed him! Only it was I who delivered the blow that ended his miserable life!”

“Silence!” He narrowed his glare. “Regardless of what he did, the rest of us didn’t deserve our fate! My sister, Delilah, had to marry a peasant out of desperation! My brother, Thomas, disappeared… possibly gone off to join some bandit gang or worse! You ruined our lives!”

Everil thrust a knee into his gut, knocking all the air out of him and causing his grip on her to loosen. She punched his jaw, sending him stumbling back a step, then kicked his feet from underneath him. He fell hard upon the ground and she moved in before he could rise, pinning his sword arm down with a foot as she stood over him, the tip of her sword touching his adam’s apple.

Nathaniel clicked his tongue, anger, and humiliation twisting his fair features, which were clear for her to see now that his cover slid off from his head. He still had the long, raven hair she recalled, though he was rugged, with a scruff around his mouth and chin. To think this man had once been a friend to her brother.

The door to her chamber flew open as some men barged in, drawing their attention away from each other. “Your Majesty!” Varel called in a panic, the soldiers around him armed and prepared to fight. He swallowed upon seeing the scene before him. “Maker’s breath… Get him away from her! Hurry!”

The men rushed over to them as Everil lowered her blade and stepped back. They roughly picked him up off the floor and disarmed him. He didn’t fight back this time.

“Are you all right, Commander?” The seneschal approached her, keeping his eyes on the prisoner. 

“I’m fine. Throw him in the dungeon. I think he needs some time to cool off.”

Nathaniel chuckled darkly. “So you suddenly show mercy to a Howe…” 

“A Howe…” Varel echoed in disbelief.

“The only reason your blood has not stained my carpet, Nathaniel Howe, is because I know what it feels like to lose everything and I pity you. However, it was your father who cursed you and your siblings, not I.” Everil lifted her nose, remaining dignified despite wearing nothing but a nightgown amongst the surrounding men. “Still... you made an attempt on your queen's life, which is a deed punishable by death. So consider my mercy temporary.” She turned to the seneschal. “Take him away. I’ll decide what to do with him in the morning.”

“Yes, my lady.” Varel bowed with a fist to his chest.

Still gripping her weapon, Everil watched them drag him away, her gaze locked with his heated glare until he and the soldiers disappeared from her sight.


	16. The Prisoner's Joining

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys. This one is rather short but I felt it ended in the right place based on my plans for the next chapter. Hope you enjoy it nonetheless! Thank you!

⚜

_ N _ _ athaniel's eyes opened to the sound of  _ the dungeon's gates came through the damp, dark passageways. Grunting, he adjusted himself, the chains about his wrists jingling while the cuffs dug into his skin. He was both thirsty and famished, but he'd be damned if he'd reveal that to his captors. Even as he waited for punishment, he would keep his pride. Or whatever remained of it. 

Steps echoed in the narrow spaces, growing ever closer. They were two. No. Three people. One set of steps was light, possibly a woman’s. The others were heavier, accompanied by the distinct clank of weapons and armor. Shadows stretched along the walls as the torches cast shapes over them, making them seem alive. Then, armored men rounded the corner and her face came into view shortly after, her Grey Warden uniform reflecting the dim lights around her. The seneschal accompanied her, ever the faithful servant.

“Fergus once said you wouldn’t have the guts to return to Ferelden after my husband’s coronation. I give you credit for proving him wrong,” Everil mocked while approaching his cell, her expression cold as ice.

Nathaniel let out a wry chuckle. “How fitting that you would be the one to personally dictate my fate as you did my father’s. Have you come to gloat some more before hanging me?”

The queen crossed her arms. “Our families were allies not too long ago. We played in Highever’s fields as children—both of us Couslands and Howes. We even spoke of our futures and trusted each other enough to share secrets.” She scowled at him. “You and I would have remained friends had it not been for your father’s treachery and your most recent attempt on my life.”

With effort, he pushed himself to his feet, his muscles protesting under the strain. “Hmph… I’ll admit that suddenly seeing you again as a grown woman kept me from ending you in your sleep. Who knew that the spitfire girl who preferred swords over dolls would turn out to look like you do now? Though it seems that even with your fair lady facade, you’re still playing the man.”

“Watch your words, Howe,” Varel warned sharply.

Everil knitted her eyebrows, scrutinizing him. “Why did you choose to act against me, Nathaniel? Your father’s actions may have left a stain in your family’s reputation, but you could have worked towards redeeming your name instead of almost committing an act of treason.”

He scoffed. “Of course… Why didn’t I think of that? I should have joined King Alistair’s service, instead. He surely would have given a Howe another chance.”

“He would have, had I spoken with him.”

“Spare me the caring act, Everil.” Nathaniel boldly met her stare. “Just tell me what it is you’re going to do with me. I have nothing more to lose.”

Silence briefly interrupted their conversation as Everil analyzed her options. He had fought on even ground with her just the night before, something not everyone was capable of doing. And she needed more Wardens to help in her quest. She pressed her lips into a line, conflicted by the decision she was about to make. He wasn’t trustworthy, but she would have to take that risk. 

“I know of a way in which you can redeem yourself, should you survive…” Everil gazed back up at him, a smirk on her face. “You will join my ranks, Nathaniel. I invoke the Right of Conscription upon you.”

He paled. “What?” 

“But, Commander…” Varel stepped in, shocked. 

“No! I would rather you hang me!” the prisoner protested.

“There will be no further discussion.” Everil spun about to walk back the way they came. “Prepare him for the Joining.”

Varel dipped his head, still anxious over the idea. “Understood.”

Clenching his jaw, Nathaniel glared at her retreating form, finding himself trapped within her clutches. Maker help him.

⚜⚜⚜⚜

His feet shuffled over the hall's carpet as the guards dragged him to the throne, where Everil sat waiting for them, legs crossed. Varel stood next to her, holding the Joining chalice. As soon as he was standing before them, his chains came undone and the men who brought him turned around and walked away, leaving him at their commander’s mercy. Nathaniel saw them go, then slowly gazed at her, surrendering to his fate. It was either die trying to flee the keep or take a chance with the Wardens.  _ Might as well… _

Everil rose from her chair. “All right… Shall we begin?”

Lifting his nose, Nathaniel met her eyes. “I don’t have a choice… So let’s just get it done.” 

She took the chalice from her seneschal and descended the steps, approaching him. Her voice came quiet, each word carrying the weight of behind their meaning. “Join us, brothers and sisters. Join us in the shadows where we stand vigilant. Join us as we carry the duty that cannot be forsworn. And should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten and that, one day, we shall join you.” With a resolute expression, she offered him the cup that would forever change his life.

Nathaniel stared at it briefly and took it, gazing into the black liquid swirling within. He swallowed thick. “The moment of truth...”

The Warden-Commander observed intently as he brought the cup to his lips and drank, some of its contents drizzling down his chin. She took the cup from him and stepped back. Waiting. 

The pain came rushing at him like a mad bull, robbing him of breath as he clawed at his burning throat. He fell on his knees, gagging as the taint claimed him. And he collapsed onto his side, his consciousness vanishing. 

Seeing it was over, Everil took a step and went to a knee to check his pulse. “Hmph… He made it. It seems I have one more man.”

“Commander… Are you sure this is wise?” Varel asked, moving to her side. “He tried to kill you. What’s to stop him from trying again?”

“I’ll be fine.” Everil stood, returning the cup to him. “I knew him once… If he’s the same man I remember, then he will do his duty as a Grey Warden.” She sighed, gazing down at the unconscious man. “Even if he has to follow my orders now…”

⚜⚜⚜⚜

  
  


The nightmares of darkspawn and death faded as he awakened. Nathaniel scrunched up his face and slowly sat up with a groan. His head was pounding, but he was thankful he'd survived the ritual. “So now I’m one of them…” he muttered to himself, running a hand through his raven hair. No longer was he a nobleman. No longer was he just a man wandering Ferelden with a chip on his shoulder. He was to be part of something greater, whether or not he wanted it. 

His dazed gaze wandered about the room. He was in one of the chambers where his father’s knights once slept, which held a single, one person bed and a few other pieces of furniture. Something blue caught his attention, and he saw the bundle of dyed leather and silver scale armor sitting atop a chair by the door. Huffing, he went to his feet and trudged to it, picking it up and seeing the two griffons etched upon the shining breastplate. 

A knock snapped him out of the momentary trance he’d been under. “Come in…”

The door swung open, then Everil stepped in before crossing her arms, remaining by the doorway. “You’re finally up.”

He turned away from her, undoing the buckles on his leather vest. “Are you sure you should be here alone?”

She half-smiled. “I defeated you once already. You don’t concern me.”

There was a pause. “Fair enough...”

“Hurry and change. Once you’re done, meet me and the others at the courtyard. We’re to go to the Blackmarshes.”

Nathaniel glanced over a shoulder. “Why would you even want to go there? That place holds nothing but death.”

“Another Grey Warden has gone to investigate darkspawn activity in those parts. The rest I will explain on our way there.” Everil made to head back out but halted halfway. “Oh, and one more thing…”

He raised an eyebrow. 

The queen glared at him in open distrust. “You dare try anything against me again… and I shall execute you myself. Is that clear, Howe?”

A corner of his lips curled up. “Don’t worry,  _ your Majesty _ … I had my chance and it passed me by, I will not risk it a second time. Just know that although my sense of duty has bound me to you, I won’t be fighting for you.”

“Good thing I expect little else of you…” The door shut with a click as she left, leaving him alone in the room once more. 


	17. The Blackmarsh I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: Hi guys! Sorry for taking so long with this one. It's been a crazy few weeks. But here it is. Thank you for your patience and let me know your thoughts. I will be working on the next two chapters and hopefully post 18 by next weekend. 19 the weekend after. And that will complete Blook I (I am splitting this into two books). Wish me luck~

⚜

They left Vigil's Keep on horseback, as planned, though not as early as she'd wanted. They were bound to have to camp one extra night out on the field, but at least they had an additional companion to help keep watch, even if he hadn't exactly joined them willingly. She glanced over her shoulder at the man in question. He was staring off to the side, sitting up as stiff and silent as a tree on his saddle. The others hadn't really spoken to him much, aside from a brief welcome, and he hadn't seemed to mind the silence.

Fate had a fascination with throwing surprises into her life, not all of them being pleasant. This man was one of them. He was the son of the one who destroyed her life and her brother's, and yet she had given him a chance to prove he wasn't as conniving and treacherous as his father. A move her husband would have likely disapproved of had he been there to witness her bargain.

“Commander…” Mhairi rode her horse closer to hers, sending wary glances to the stoic Howe. “I am… puzzled by your decision to recruit the man. Why take such a risk?”

“We needed help and he's capable,” Everil replied without straying her sight from the road. “Don't worry about him. If he tries anything, I will take care of it myself.”

But Mhairi didn't seem convinced, giving Nathaniel a fleeting look. If the queen thought it prudent to bring him with them, then she had no choice but to trust her. But that didn’t mean she would trust him.

Night soon fell over the Wardens and they set up their camp in the woods. Their horses graced near their tents, while the group sat by the burning fire, staying close to its warmth while waiting for their dinner to roast. Oghren and Anders had their usual banter, while Mhairi kept quiet beside Everil, her attention still set on their new joinee.

“So you're Rendon Howe's son…” Oghren directed his drunken stare to him, a smirk on his face. “You don't look it.”

Nathaniel quirked an eyebrow, sending him a sideways glance. “Is that so?”

“I mean… I only saw him from afar before Evy did him in, but you ain't got that weasel face he had.”

“Oghren…” Everil warned from her seat, using a stick to adjust their coals. 

“What?” The dwarf looked her way. “I'm just makin’ conversation with our buddy here. He’s more interesting than blondie.”

Anders glared at him. “Hey… I'm plenty interesting.”

Oghren waved him off. “Suure... All that whining about mean Templars and the Circle is to die for. At least we can get some new, entertaining shit from the new guy.”

“I am not here to entertain you, dwarf.” Nathaniel sat up regally, irritated by the conversation. “I am doing my duty as a Warden and that's all you will get out of me.”

“Can we even trust you to do that, though?” Mahiri interjected, scrutinizing him from where she sat while their commander glanced her way. “For all we know, you could be following along in hopes to kill my queen over your father’s death.”

A look of dismay befell him as he met her stare. “Believe what you will. I don't need to prove myself to any of you.”

“All of you have to learn to work together,” Everil finally spoke in annoyance. “We're comrades in arms now, and as such, we have to cooperate and get along.”

Mhairi and Nathaniel glared at each other in silence after her intervention, while Oghren and Anders shrugged, the dwarf returning to his ale. The commander sighed and shook her head before staring at their fire again. Her quest to resolve Ferelden's darkspawn issue would certainly be a difficult one. Made worse by her childish companions and their distrust of one of another. 

Hostility at first was to be expected in some groups. She’d seen it during her quest to end the Blight. Personalities clashed and intentions were questioned, putting a strain in the relationships involved. She could only hope they would get past this as some in her party had before.

A huff escaped her, earning her a few looks. She ignored them.  _ I hope Alistair is having better luck than I am… _

⚜⚜⚜⚜

Their horses neighed nervously as the tranquil woods turned into a gray, barren wilderness. Leafless trees reached over them with creaking, decrepit fingers, their shadows shifting ominously as if alive. The scent of rot and decay filled their nostrils, emanating from the still waters near their path. Dead carcasses lay upon the side of the road, their bones picked dry by predators and scavengers. And yet there were no animals in sight. No movement. Only silence and darkness as the moon hid behind the hills. 

Everil scanned the area, searching for any signs of hostiles. The others behind her did the same, staying close together.

“This place reeks…” Anders muttered, curling his nose at the stench.

Oghren smirked at him. “Sorry… I think that was me.” 

The mage rolled his eyes. “Ugh…”

“I heard this part of Ferelden was cursed… haunted," Nathaniel said to his companions, riding with a hand upon his thigh. “Everyone in Amaranthine avoids it and with good reason. They say spirits and demons lurk in the shadows… waiting to devour or possess any unsuspecting travelers. None who dare walk into these parts ever return.”

“That's reassuring…” Mhairi grumbled, glaring sideways at a particularly creepy tree.

Everil glanced over her shoulder. “Let's keep our guard up. Spirits and demons may no longer be the only things we need to worry about if Kristoff's reports turn out to be accurate.”

They stopped their horses by a wooden sign placed by the road, reading,  _ “This area is haunted. Enter at your own risk.” _ A warning to all who dared venture in. They spotted some barely visible structures a mile past it and the Warden-Commander dismounted first, her men following suit. They led their steeds to a patch of trees, where they tied them up to keep them from wandering off. 

“Someone will have to stay with them.” Everil gazed at Mhairi. “There may be wolves around the parts.”

She nodded. “I'll make a torch and guard the area, Commander.”

“Thank you.” Everil patted her shoulder, then turned to the others. “Let's keep moving.’

The four Wardens continued following the road, walking past more carcasses as the moist dirt and gravel crunched and squelched under their boots. Old huts emerged from behind the trees and the hills, falling apart due to years of neglect and exposure to the elements. They entered through the gates, the desolation palpable as the breeze blew through the abandoned chicken coops and crumbling homes. There was not a soul in sight.

"Maker… What is this place?" Everil whispered, as if afraid that talking too loud would disrupt the dead.

"This used to be a bustling village a long time ago," Nathaniel responded, his voice just as quiet. "They say everyone who lived here perished overnight and that their deaths weakened the veil, releasing evils into these lands and cursing them forever. At least… that's what Amaranthine's records say."

"Did they say what killed them?" she asked.

"No… Nobody knows what happened. Only that they disappeared without explanation."

"Charming…" Anders muttered nervously.

They continued to explore, finding nothing but more ruins as the smell of salt joined the sour stench of death, drifting from the ocean waters bordering the town. The waves rolled in the distance, dragging gently as if the eerie atmosphere weighed it down.

They traveled through the ghost town, following the winding paths and passing a run down mansion along the way. Possibly the home of whomever used to rule here. It wasn't long before they found something that didn't quite belong in the otherwise still scenery.

"Ah, look! A campsite!" Anders called out and the Wardens hastily approached it.

Everil inspected the area, looking for any clues. Only a piece of paper speaking of darkspawn in the Blackmarsh sat upon an abandoned cot. "I think this may be Kristoff's…"

"But where the sod is he?" Oghren grumbled, searching in the Warden's empty tent. 

"We have to keep looking." Everil rose from beside the cot and led them further through the marsh. They passed another pool of swampy waters and kept walking until strange structures began to appear on the rock walls beside them. White, egg-like skin sacks, mounted on mounds of decaying flesh. The stench became almost overwhelming and the voices in their heads turned into a chorus. 

Anders gripped his staff anxiously. “Darkspawn nearby…”

“This confirms they're here after all…” Everil narrowed her eyes, drawing her blade.

They took a few more steps and it was then that sickening wet noises and cracking sounds reached their ears. Strange, otherworldly wails followed, twisted cries resembling those of pain and yearning. The Wardens looked about, all arming themselves while they watched with a mixture of horror and disgust as creatures resembling human infants crawled out of the sacks. Their bodies were like those of bugs, with legs sharp as claws. In minutes, they surrounded them, crawling from all directions. 

“Maker’s breath!” Nathaniel exclaimed, backing away from one of them. “Are these darkspawn?”

“I sense they are but… these are like nothing I’ve ever seen,” Everil replied, their appearance making a shiver crawl up her spine. 

“Doesn’t matter!” Oghren roared, preparing his mighty axe. “They die just like all the others!” 

The darkspawn struck, scurrying towards them as they screeched. Everil cried out, swinging downward and slashing across one’s body as it pounced on her. It fell with a squeal, then more followed, crawling her way like insects from the Fade itself. She felled three, while the others defeated more, their bodies bleeding black onto the already dead soil. 

“All right, I think we’ve had enough!” Anders called as he summoned a spell, bringing forth a wave of flames that swept over the remaining monsters. Burnt flesh and dirt surrounded them, but now there was silence. They were all dead. 

“Kristoff no doubt saw these... We have to hurry and find him,” Everil said, quickly sheathing her blade before she and her companions made haste over the mounds of rot in their path. 

A fallen form on the way promptly drew her attention, eyes widening upon seeing the silver and blue of their armor. The Warden-Commander slowed to a walk and went on a knee by the body, her eyebrows knitting as she inspected it. “This has to be Kristoff...”

“Looks like he's been dead for a few days…” Anders said, gazing sadly at who would have been another of their peers. He was left here to die. Alone with no one to mourn him except for them, a bunch of strangers.

Everil clenched her jaw. “Bastards… Who would've—”

“So it was as Mother said. Lure one here and the others will come.”

The Wardens spun to face that raspy voice, surprise befalling them. Everil closed her hands into fists, glare narrowing at the creature standing a distance from them. It was a darkspawn, a Hurlock to be exact. It wore chain armor over a red tunic, a cowl over his head. Much like the one from the night in which the keep was almost taken.

“So you did this…” Everil's tone was frigid as the cold waters beside them whilst she drew her blade. “Did whoever this Mother is also tell you that you would die by my hand?”

The talking darkspawn cackled hoarsely, its laughter grating over their ears like sand and rock over a wooden plank. Mirth filled it's dark gray eyes, jagged teeth showing in a wicked grin. “The Mother has foreseen many things, but not what you speak. This one is here only to stop you from fulfilling His goal. You die now, Grey Warden.”

It drew something from its pocket and raised it, breaking it apart. Flaring lights erupted from the creature's hand, wrapping around them and robbing all warmth from them. The Grey Wardens screamed. They were caught by surprise, and while Everil struggled against that power's iron grip, there was nothing she could do to stop it.

Everything became a blur.

Their cries faded into nothingness. 

And they were no longer in the Blackmarsh.


End file.
